Oh, There You Are
by Angst Is My Middle Name
Summary: "And then my soul saw you and it kind of went 'Oh, there you are. I've been looking for you.'"-Iain Thomas. He expected fireworks when he met his soulmate, fireworks and sparks. Never in his wildest dreams did he expect that soulmate to be one of his fellow firemen.. Slash.. Please read notes inside.
1. Meet and Greet

_**Inspired by the wonderful harrimaniac27 from an ask I posed on Tumblr, in which I asked for a prompt for a Mike/Marco fic. It has since been blown wayyyy bigger than I could have (but probably should have) expected.**_

 _ **Notes: This fic**_ **will be slash. _That means that two male characters will be involved in a romantic and (in this case) sexual relationship. Sex will not be at the forefront of the plot, but it will occur. If you do not like slash, please just don't read. I will not tolerate meanness/flames/trolling just because you don't like slash. As always, constructive criticism is appreciated._**

 ** _Warnings: mild language, mentions of violence/death, sexual situations. This will last multiple chapters and each chapter will have specific warnings when necessary._**

* * *

Mike Stoker was the first man to show up for the first shift at Station 51, a brand new fire station built in conjunction with the trial paramedic program. He pulled his truck into a parking spot behind the station. The only other vehicle present was an LA County Fire Department car with a chief standing next to it, waving Mike over. Chief Duggan grinned, teeth very white against his dark skin, and shook Mike's hand heartily.

"So, you're one of the men here for the new station?"

"Yessir, Chief. I'm the engineer, Mike Stoker."

"Perfect. After everyone else arrives, us and one of the new paramedics'll go and pick up the apparatus. You always arrive to work so early, Stoker?"

"I don't usually beat the captain, but I do like to be prompt. Thought I might be the last one here today, actually."

That wasn't entirely true. While Mike did indeed always prefer to be a little early, today it was nerves that brought him in far earlier than he knew anyone else would arrive. He'd been an engineer for a few years now, and he had absolutely no doubt in his abilities because he was a damn good engineer. Silly as it was, he was nervous to meet his new shiftmates. Guys came and went at his old station all the time, but usually one at a time. It was easier to meet a new guy when you already knew everyone else. At least everyone else was new, too.

Another car pulled up, and out came a man about Mike's height with dark hair. Mike recognized him as Dick Hammer, a captain he'd worked with a time or two before. He liked him. Hammer was a good man, a good captain. Chief Duggan greeted him as warmly as he had Mike, and Hammer turned to Mike, saying, "Stoker… Mike Stoker, right? You subbed 127s a few times. I'm glad to have you with us."

"Thanks, Cap. I'm glad to be here. I'm really interested in seeing how this paramedic program is gonna work."

"All of us are," Chief Duggan responded, "What are your thoughts on the program, Stoker?"

 _Had to open my damn mouth._ Mike took a second to compose his thoughts, making sure the words he wanted to say were in the right order, then said, "Well, sir, I think if it's done right, it'll be an excellent program. We've all worked rescues where having more immediate medical attention could've potentially saved lives. If we do it right here, there could be paramedics running with the departments of every major city one day…maybe even in volunteer departments."

Chief Duggan nodded, a light smile on his face. Hammer was wearing a similar one himself. Mike felt heat creeping into his face and cast his gaze down at his shoes. _And people wonder why I'm quiet… I make a damn fool of myself when I speak, that's why._ Hammer and Duggan started a conversation, which saved Mike from having to speak for the time being. They soon went inside for a quick tour of the new building, and Mike found himself particularly fond of the kitchen. He liked cooking, especially for the guys on his shift.

The next to arrive was a man with reddish-brown hair and clear eyes. He looked calm and at ease, cheerfully greeting everyone with a smile.

"I'm Roy DeSoto," he said warmly, "I'm one of the paramedics, part of the new program. It's nice to meet all of you. Hopefully my partner'll be here soon. Johnny Gage. He's a good kid. Real smart."

Sure enough, he was the next to arrive, pulling up in a dusty white Rover. Gage was a skinny kid, all long limbs and a mop of brown hair and a crooked smile. Mike thought he looked a little goofy, but DeSoto seemed to think a lot of him. _He's the one who has to work with him, so I suppose it's his opinion that matters the most._ Gage was friendly, which was a good start. Mike had worked with plenty of surly guys, guys who couldn't be bothered to be friendly no matter what was going on. Now, some of those guys pretended to be friendly at first, but Mike was pretty good at seeing through the bullshit. Plus, he honestly didn't think Gage was capable of pretending to be something he wasn't.

After that came one of the linemen, a Latino with a friendly face and skin a rich tan. Mike liked him immediately. He just looked like one of those people a guy could like, who could be your friend. He shook hands with everyone, coming to Mike last, saying, "I'm Marco Lopez. Pleased to meet you, Stoker."

"Same to you. Name's Mike."

Lopez flashed a bright smile, and Mike offered him one in return, trying to ignore the odd fluttering in his stomach.

"You cook at all, Stoker?" Lopez asked.

"Yeah, but nothin' fancy. I cook firemen's food, all grease and calories and probably bad for ya."

"Me, too. The guys at my old station wanted me to cook practically every shift, but a guy only has so many recipes, y'know? What's your best meal? The one everyone likes?"

"Probably… probably my spaghetti and meatballs. Old family recipe," Mike replied, a little surprised to realize he was still smiling.

"Perfect. I love spaghetti. It's crazy, but one of my best is an Irish stew. Guys wanted it every other shift."

"I guess we'll have to try it out soon, then."

The last member of the shift to arrive walked in about ten minutes before the shift was due to start. He was a young man, with bright blue eyes and a dark mass of curls, his build leaning toward stocky. He introduced himself as Chet Kelly.

"I hope you aren't always the last one into the station, Kelly," Hammer said.

"Me, too, Cap. Don't really wanna land latrines every shift," Kelly smirked.

The newcomer had an air of mischief about him but not meanness. Mike liked to think he was fairly good at reading people, and he was pretty happy with all his new shiftmates, knew they were good people. He just somehow knew it, like when some people just knew it would rain. Chief Duggan gathered everyone in the kitchen for a quick speech about the new paramedic program needing to succeed and teamwork and all the usual things chiefs said in speeches. Mike listened attentively nonetheless.

"Alright now, I'll take Stoker and DeSoto to get the apparatus and bring it home. You'll have an engine and a new rescue squad with life-saving equipment," Duggan explained, "The rest of you should acquaint yourselves with the new station and direct any questions you have to your new captain. We should be back within the hour with some new toys for you."

Mike pulled on his jacket and followed DeSoto and Duggan out to the chief's car, excitement starting to flood his system.

xXxXx

Marco poked around the kitchen for most of their time waiting for the apparatus. He would get to know this kitchen well, of that he was sure. Cooking was one of his favorite things. It gave him something to occupy himself, something to do with his hands, something to help keep his mind busy. He caught up with Gage and Kelly, who were setting up the dorm and already sniping at each other, though Kelly did occasionally pose an actual question or two to Gage.

"…you have to ask a doctor for permission to do anything to a patient," Kelly asked, "What happens if you can't get ahold of a doctor? Or if your connection to the hospital cuts out?"

"Well, it'd hafta depend on the situation, I guess," Gage replied, "I mean, we're not supposed to do anything without a doctor's go-ahead 'cause we're not doctors. We don't know all the possible complications and stuff, I mean, so if we decide to administer a treatment without authorization and a patient dies as a direct result, we're at fault."

"What if it saves their life?"

Gage shrugged, "Dunno. Prob'ly depend on the situation," and worked on making sure the sheets on the bunk were perfect. Marco piped up, "Hey, Gage, you used to work rescue at 10s, right?"

"Yeah… I was there for about a year."

"I thought so. I subbed there for a friend of mine once or twice, Manuel Herrera."

"Yeah, Manny was great! Liked his time off, though… never seen anyone use all their days before…"

Marco knit his brows, "He didn't tell you?"

"Tell me-? Tell us what?"

"His, uh… his sister had breast cancer. See, she started living with him after her husband got killed a few years ago, her and her three kids. When she got sick, he had to help his _mama_ take care of the kids and his sister."

"He never told us any of that. Is-? Is she alright? Manny's sister?"

"Oh, yeah, she's much better now. She had some complications from the surgery, which was what really got her, but she's doing alright."

"That's good, at least. I wonder why he never said anything."

"Well, Gage, not everyone likes to broadcast their personal business around," Kelly stated.

That sparked another round of bickering, so Marco left them in the dorm, chuckling to himself. He really liked everyone so far. They were all very kind and friendly, though if he had to hazard a choice, he'd say Mike Stoker was his favorite, the one he thought could become a best friend. The rumble of engines caught Marco's ear, and he hustled out into the empty bay with the others. The small squad backed in first, but Marco only had eyes for the engine, an open-cab Crown Firecoach, polished to a perfect shine. Her driver was quick and careful, backing the engine in effortlessly. Stoker climbed down, smoothing his brown hair to one side, long limbs carrying him gracefully forward.

"Well, Stoker, how is she?" Hammer asked, resting a hand on the engine.

"Oh, she's a beaut, Cap. Runs like a dream," he answered, grinning, "I can't wait to get her out on a run. Guys at the yard said they checked her pumps yesterday and filled her up, so she's ready."

"Perfect. Fellas, let's get ourselves familiar with the new apparatus, even if it's a familiar old engine to you. Don't want any mishaps in the field. We wanna be quick and good."

DeSoto called, "Hey, Johnny, come over here so we can figure out where everything is on the squad. I know we had a practice vehicle, but this one may be different. C'mon…"

Marco watched them start opening compartments on the squad and cataloging equipment. Meanwhile, Mike was doing a slow circle around the engine, occasionally reaching out to touch a spot or open a compartment or run a finger over a knob. He was almost reverent in his attentions, and Marco found himself inexplicably drawn to the engineer. There was just something about him that made Marco like him.

"Hey, Cap," Mike spoke up after some time had passed, "I think maybe we oughta check out the squad, too."

Marco agreed, "That makes sense. If we're on a run together, DeSoto and Gage may need help gettin' stuff out."

"Good idea, fellas. DeSoto, Gage, show us around the squad."

Chief Duggan came back later in the day to see how they were getting along.

"You boys think you're ready to go live as Station 51?" Duggan asked.

Hammer turned to look at his men. Marco felt himself grinning and saw the others do the same.

"Yeah, Chief," Hammer replied, wearing a smirk of his own, "I think we're ready."

"Outstanding. Let's get you men called in as available so you can get to work. Now, they tell me the squad will get called out on solo runs, as will the engine, but there will also be plenty of times the station will be called out. You'll hear calls for Station 51, Squad 51, and Engine 51, just like any other station with multiple apparatus. Understood?"

"Yessir," the men chorused.

"Also, the squad can get called out with another engine and vice-versa. These paramedic squads are valuable, and they're sorely needed. I'm proud to be one of the men leading the paramedic program. DeSoto, Gage, do us proud."

"Yessir, we will," DeSoto replied.

"I didn't know Duggan was one of the paramedic chiefs," Gage commented after Duggan left.

"He's the best choice for it," Hammer explained, "He was a medic during WWII, one of the best."

Gage made a noise of understanding and went back to looking through the drug box, muttering to himself every so often, DeSoto at his side. Hammer was looking over some paperwork, and Kelly was engrossed in an auto magazine. Stoker flipped through the latest _Fire Engineering_ , one he'd probably already read a few times. He was seated on the couch, one long leg crossed over the other. Where the others were all in motion, with jiggling feet and tapping pens and working fingers, Stoker was very still, his only movements the turning of pages.

Kelly spoke up after a short while, asking a simple question about cars that opened up the floor to conversation. Soon, everyone was talking about this and that and the other thing: family, hobbies, sports, pets, cars, previous stations, service time, everything. They sat in the kitchen, talking and laughing, and it took a moment for Marco to realize that Stoker was not among them. _Why doesn't he wanna join in? Fire Engineering can't be that fascinating…_ It wasn't even that Mike didn't look interested in what everyone had to say. The engineer followed the conversation as closely as if he were part of it, but he said nothing to contribute to it. Marco found himself wondering more about Stoker as the day went on.

The squad was called out after dinner, which was just pizza since the fridge had yet to be stocked. Another friendly conversation started before lights out, another conversation Stoker carefully kept himself out of. _Maybe he's just shy… though he spoke to me fine this morning when we talked about cooking. That may be it, he might just need someone to start a conversation with him directly._ Marco resolved to speak to him tomorrow morning. They could get breakfast, perhaps. Anticipation fluttered in Marco's stomach.

He'd laughed a little earlier in the day, listening to Gage and Kelly argue over whether or not to talk to Stoker about what it was like to be an engineer. Kelly was making noises about definitely wanting to be an engineer himself one day, but Gage just seemed a little high-strung. They were just young linemen being ridiculous, of course, as young linemen were wont to do (and young paramedics, too, he supposed.) They blew little things out of proportion and pretended big things were nothing. Marco remembered. It wasn't so long ago he was a young lineman himself, after all.

The smell of fresh coffee permeated the station in the morning, warm and heady and stimulating, easily pulling Marco into wakefulness. He stepped into his bunker pants and shuffled into the kitchen, stifling a yawn. Stoker was sitting at the table, mug of coffee in front of him with the open paper.

"Made a fresh pot of coffee," Stoker spoke up, "Better get a cup before everyone else does."

"Didn't think we had a percolator when I looked around the kitchen yesterday… or coffee for that matter."

Stoker shrugged, "Someone gave it to me for Christmas or somethin' one year. I just hung on to it 'cause I figured it may come in handy."

"You're tellin' me you keep a percolator in your car?"

"Nah, I just thought we might need it, so I brought it with me… and I was right. You gonna drink some or just stand there and make fun of me and my percolator?"

"Well, I think I'll drink it," Marco quipped, "Smells pretty good, after all."

The comment made Stoker smirk, and a curious feeling of lightness trickled through Marco's veins. The engineer's brown hair was still lightly mussed, sleepiness lingering in his blue eyes, and his musculature was just visible under his white t-shirt. The lightness increased to a steady flow. Marco found himself strangely pleased to note Stoker didn't have a wedding band.

"Stoker, would you wanna grab some breakfast after our shift?" he asked, sipping his coffee.

Blue eyes studied him for a moment; Marco felt scrutinized.

"Sure. I'd like that, Lopez."

"Great. Is there any place you like to go in particular?"

"Nah, it should be your choice, since it was your offer."

"Hmm… well, I know this great place pretty near here I've been to plenty of times. The Deepwater. It's good and cheap and they give you plenty of food," Marco explained, "The owners, the wife is Mexican and the husband is a white guy from around Philadelphia. They serve this great stuff called 'scrapple'. It's good even when you know what it is."

"And just what is… scrapple?"

"Just what it says, really. Meat scraps, pork mostly, they mix together with cornmeal and fry up."

"Ugh, doesn't sound good to me."

"That's what I said, but now I get it every time I'm there."

There was the scrutiny again. Stoker said, "Well… I guess it wouldn't hurt to try it…"

Marco gave him the address as the others filtered into the kitchen, all grumbling and yawning. Stoker drained his coffee and passed the paper to Marco, giving him a small smile. Warmth pulsed through Marco's veins. He wished he knew why.

* * *

 _ **If you couldn't tell already, this will be kind of a slow burn, but don't worry. We'll get there together.**_

 _ **A/N: The Deepwater Diner is an actual diner in South Jersey where I live, and you can indeed obtain that most delicious treat scrapple there.**_


	2. The Quiet Days

_**Some clarification: Apologies if I didn't make this perfectly clear, but this fic is completely unrelated to my others. If it was, I would have made note of it first thing. Sorry for any confusion this caused. (I was away all weekend, or else I would have made this update sooner.) If there are any other questions or concerns about this, please message me directly.**_

 _ **Also, I will be upgrading the rating to M in a few chapters. I will warn you the chapter before I do so. Again, please message me directly with any questions or concerns.**_

 _ **Warnings: mild language**_

* * *

Firemen tended to have mixed feelings about slow days, and Marco was no different. Slow days were nice because a guy could relax a little (once the station was cleaned within an inch of its life), but firemen didn't enjoy being bored. They certainly didn't enter their profession to lead an easy, calm life, more often than not preferred some good runs to get the heart pounding. Slow days were both a gift and a curse… especially when one of those bored firemen was The Phantom.

A loud yelp sounded from the latrine, though for once it wasn't Johnny. Instead, Marco heard Chet yelling and Johnny laughing, a nice twist on the usual events of the quiet firehouse. Johnny came loping into view chased by a sopping wet Chet with Hammer's voice bellowing after them, shouting about a freshly cleaned station and immaturity. Marco and Mike laughed together on the couch as the scene unfolded. They wouldn't be the ones cleaning it, after all.

Marco and Mike had become good friends in the four short months they'd been at Station 51, and Marco was quite sure he knew more about Mike Stoker than anyone else. Mike was single, no wife or girlfriend, and didn't really hit the dating scene too much. He placed first in the engineer's exam the first time he took it and still held the record for highest score. His favorite sports were hockey, football, and soccer, though he also enjoyed baseball but hated watching basketball. He'd eat damn near anything put in front of him, but he particularly enjoyed Mexican and Italian, which Marco thought was kind of funny, and the man made the best fried chicken and spaghetti with meatballs and lasagna and chocolate chip cookies. Mike liked all kinds of music, and preferred dramatic films over comedies but liked Westerns most of all. Most important of all, Mike liked to keep to himself.

No information really had to be wheedled out of Mike, but a guy had to ask a specific question to get the answer he was looking for. Marco actually waited a full month before asking any detailed questions about Mike's work history, sharing his own information in return. Mike had apparently been at 69s his whole career, from probie to lineman to engineer, which was fairly uncommon. Marco joined the department at eighteen, and in a little less than ten years had been at four different stations not including 51s. He enjoyed getting to know different people and apparatus, but now… 51s was different. Marco could honestly say he felt at home with these guys.

Marco just really liked everyone here, especially Mike. The two of them would hang out more often than not, watching sports or working on their vehicles or they'd go see a movie. They were known to be the best cooks at the station, so sometimes they'd get together to try out recipes on each other. Marco's two cats quickly became fond of Mike, easily falling for his quietude and gentleness. The fluffy beasts enjoyed nothing more than rubbing up on Mike's legs, earning themselves some good petting and scratching. Marco and Mike genuinely got along great. That's all there was to it.

Johnny came back into the rec room, grinning sheepishly. He opened his mouth, but Marco and Mike both cut him off with a, "No."

"You don't even know what I'm gonna-"

"No."

The paramedic began to pout at them, maybe thinking it would make them feel bad and get them to help him mop up. Hammer shouted in, "Gage! Get in here and clean up this damn mess!"

Johnny jumped and hurried off to do the captain's bidding while Marco and Mike grinned from the couch. _They better not get toned out before he's done._ Mike gave a quiet chuckle and said, "Man, if they get toned out before he's done, I'll make a new mess for him to clean when they get back."

Marco snorted, agreeing, "And I'll help," and returned to his book. Thankfully, there was some justice in the world, and Johnny had plenty of time to clean up before he and Roy got a run. Apparently, he snuck in and turned the shower on while Chet was cleaning it, resulting in a dripping Chet and a soaked latrine… and Johnny being switched to latrine duty for the rest of the shift. No one else had anything to do. They'd already hung hose, the station was spotless, and the squad and engine were sparkling.

"You wanna help me with dinner tonight?" Mike asked as evening rolled around.

"Yeah, it'll give something to do besides read the same page five times."

"Perfect. C'mon, we'll get started…"

The two worked in relative silence, occasionally pointing out where something was with a simple "Top drawer," or "left-hand cabinet," or "I need- yeah, thanks," that Marco knew left the others perplexed. Chet and Johnny seemed constantly in awe of Mike as an engineer and now of Marco and Mike's ability to communicate with minimal speaking. For the first two months, they did their best to avoid speaking to Mike altogether as if he were a genius in need of quiet time to think. Even Roy and Hammer only spoke to the engineer when necessary. Marco seemed to be the only one forged conversation with Mike for friendship.

"Here, Marco…"

"Hmm… maybe more cayenne."

"Yeah?... Yeah, thanks… garlic, too."

"Ooh, yeah… here… I'll check the fries."

"Here's the salt for 'em."

"…Perfect… let's toss the wings…"

"Yeah, that's the bowl there…"

Marco got to work on the pasta salad to go with their steak fries and hot wings. (Apparently, Mike got the recipe while at some fire engineering convention in Buffalo, NY.)

"You oughta bring these to the next firemen's picnic, Mike," Chet spoke up, "They're amazing."

"So you really do like 'em?" Mike asked.

"No, I've struggled force down fifteen of 'em."

"Oh, shut up, Chet. You know what I mean. They're really good?"

"Yeah, they're _really_ good."

"These things are incredible!" Johnny agreed, mouth full of chicken "I've had twenty!"

"Maybe one day they'll have a contest on who can eat the most of these things-" Roy suggested, interrupted by Chet loudly stating, "- and Johnny would win! Hands down!"

"What're ya tryin' to say?"

"I'm tryin' to say you eat like an elephant! I've never seen someone so skinny who eats so much…"

The two of them fell into one of their friendly arguments. Marco caught Mike's eye and smiled across the table, a smile of reassurance, one that said, 'See, nothing to worry about. You did fine.' Mike's faint shrug and shy smile replied, 'Yes, but I have to worry sometimes. Keeps me honest.' Their gaze lingered a moment longer before they broke it off, maybe a moment longer than necessary… or proper.

xXxXx

 _The Giant Gila Monster_ was really a pretty bad flick, but for the late movie, it was alright. Nothing a little popcorn couldn't fix. Two bowls were making the rounds, though one had sat in Mike and Marco's possession for several minutes, each alternating handfuls as they watched the film. Mike could feel Marco at his side, his presence warm and pleasant as always. That was why he enjoyed being in the lineman's company so much.

Marco never had to force Mike to talk like so many others did. Mike genuinely enjoyed talking to Marco, felt like he actually listened to him rather than getting him to talk for talking's sake, like he didn't mind if Mike didn't speak at all during their time together. Even in their short time as friends, they'd spent more than one afternoon in companionable silence or with Marco doing the only speaking. Already they knew how to speak without words, to communicate with a look or a touch. Mike preferred it that way, actually. His family was quiet, so it was what he was used to.

There was a running commentary on the awful film coming from Chet, making fun of how campy it was, resulting in more than a few laughs over the course of the movie. _Chet's a good kid. I like him. He's always trying to make people laugh._ Anytime anyone seemed a little down, Chet was ready with a joke or a crazy story to cheer them up. Sometimes he went about it the wrong way, particularly as the Phantom. Mike wasn't sure whether or not Johnny knew Chet was the Phantom, Station 51's notorious prankster, and if he didn't, he was the only one who didn't know. In fact, Mike was the only to never have been pranked by Chet. Common sense dictated you didn't screw with the engineer, a man so mechanically-minded it was his job to operate the complex machinery and quickly come up with solutions to unpredictable problems.

The young lineman came off as goofy at first blush, with his roundish face and mass of dark brown curls and stocky build and blue eyes that could get almost comically wide. Sometimes his mouth could work faster than his brain, and he could say some pretty stupid things, but the kid was smart, that was for goddamn sure. Chet had clear aspirations of being an engineer one day and when he could speak to Mike in private, he asked all the right questions about the apparatus and pumps. He asked smart questions. Mike knew Chet would be a great engineer one day of he could only gain the confidence to take the exam and do well. He supposed they would cross that bridge when they came to it.

Marco would make a good engineer, too. He could be one now, but he'd confessed he was happy as a lineman for the time being, plus there were others who could use the extra pay more than he. Marco was a single guy, after all, with no one depending on him but his two cats, so he didn't particularly need more money than he already earned. _Maybe that's why I like him so much. He's unselfish._ Marco Lopez would be the first to help someone out, to give you the shirt off his back. Maybe it was because he came from a big family. Sharing and being unselfish were pretty important when you were one of nine children in a fairly poor family.

It was the elder lineman who was the first to attempt friendship with Mike, right from their first shift, and from then on they'd been the best of friends. They just fit together so well, like a set of pipefittings. He and Marco liked the same things mostly, shared many of the same hobbies, liked a lot of the same music. Mike felt good when he was with Marco. He felt warm and calm and comfortable and happy. He'd never felt that level of ease with anyone before, though if truth be told, he'd never had a friend like this before. He was a shy, quiet child, then a shy, quiet teen, then a shy, quiet adult. He'd been close with his fellow fireman, especially with the first engineer he worked with, but no one had ever made him feel so… comfortable.

Mike fished around in the bowl for some more popcorn as the movie came to an end. His fingers brushed Marco's, warm and rough, and he jerked his hand back, not because he didn't like it… but because he did. Heat flooded into his face, and he thanked every deity he could think of that it was dark in the room. Marco leaned in, whispering, "Hey, amigo, are you alright?"

"Yeah… yeah, you just startled me, is all. Guess I'm a 'lil jumpy."

"Guess you are… jumped like a damn rabbit, man. You're sure you're okay?"

Mike just nodded. Dark brown eyes searched his face, trying to detect a lie and finding none. Hammer announced it was time for lights out, so the men of 51s began their nightly routines, working around the latrine and locker room in turns. Mike was the second one ready for bed after Hammer, and honestly he was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. (It was a gift, really. Mike could fall asleep anywhere and in no time at all.) They didn't get a call all night, which was partly a welcome relief, but it left Mike with pent up energy he didn't normally have.

"Mike, you wanna come over later and hang out?" Marco asked.

"Hmm… maybe," he replied, "After shift I think I'm gonna head over to the Academy and run the track for a bit."

"Yeah? Mind if I join ya?"

"Sure thing, Marco… if you can keep up," he smirked.

"Oh, so that's how it's gonna be?"

"Yeah, that's how it's gonna be."

Marco did keep up. They did a number of laps around the track together, totaling about five miles. Running was calming for Mike. He didn't really have to think about anything while he did it. Usually, he ran alone, worried a running partner would try to start a conversation or distract him, but Marco wasn't distracting. They almost moved in tandem, their individual footfalls blending into one sound as they made their way around the track. Mike even tried to purposely throw Marco off at one point at around the three-mile mark. He took off at a loping gallop, letting his long legs take the lengthy strides he knew they could, quickly pulling ahead of Marco by a few lengths. Marco broke into a sprint to catch up and stayed at Mike's side until they returned to a more leisurely pace, matching his footfalls once more. _Amazing… it's amazing how well we work together._

Maybe he watched Marco's post-run stretches a bit too closely, but he just was drawn to the physique visible under Marco's t-shirt, to the fine musculature of his legs and arms, to the sheen of sweat over his rich brown skin. _It's alright. It happens. People like to look at nice things… and Marco's pretty nice to look at._ If he noticed those dark brown eyes doing the same as his own, he paid them no heed.


	3. Boom, Crash

_**Gonna try to keep these updates regular on Mondays, but between work and Music Man practice, that may be difficult. Also, did my best on the procedure here but if something is horribly wrong, please tell me so I can fix it. Same thing for the Spanish. (I used SpanishDict for the translations.)**_

 _ **Warnings: injuries, mild language.**_

* * *

The fire was a big one. Some idiot kids torched an abandoned warehouse, and while it was far removed from any other occupied buildings, it was still a bitch to fight. Mike could tell there was abandoned stock in there, too, probably flammable wooden crates full of flammable material. He was fairly certain the company the warehouse belonged to used to sell clothes. He brought the engine around to one of the hydrants and watched Marco jump off the engine and run back to retrieve the supply line. Marco signaled Mike to move the engine up. There were already a few trucks there; Mike could see 8s, 45s, 127s, and 110s. Hammer directed Mike around to the east side of the building.

Mike ran around to retrieve his end of the supply line and hooked it up to the pumps, signaling to Marco to open the hydrant. The supply line rapidly filled as Marco hustled back to the engine. Chet already had a line pulled to the side of the building, near some large, broken windows belching smoke and flame. Mike set to work on his pumps, charging the line for Marco and Chet as well as one for Roy and Johnny. _At least the idiot kids got away so no one got hurt… yet._ He buried himself in his work, carefully watching the pump gauges and monitoring the pressure, making little changes when needed. He could feel the heat even where he was on the other side of the engine.

The shouts and orders of the other firemen faded to a dull roar. He knew anything important would filter through, as it always did. He wasn't as experienced as some others, hadn't quite been an engineer for five years yet, but he was good at his job. It was what he always wanted to do, ever since he was a little kid. Important information always came through clear as a bell. The captains and the battalion chief were issuing orders, but Mike listened only for his own name and station number, for the names Lopez and Kelly and Gage and DeSoto.

The dull roar erupted into a cacophony of shouts and orders as there was a deafening crash. Mike's head snapped up, his heart pounding in his chest. Embers flew up into the sky as the roof caved in.

"Stoker! Cut the lines!" Hammer bellowed, "Do it now!"

Mike scrambled to obey, his heart in his throat. _Me needing to cut the lines means one of our guys is down. Shit, it could be any one of 'em._ Mike left his pump and came to stand by Hammer as he slammed down the antenna on the H/T and swore loudly. He turned and saw Mike standing there.

"It's Lopez," he said without preamble, and Mike's stomach bottomed out, "Some of those goddamned crates in there toppled and pinned him and now the fuckin' roof came down on their heads."

"I'm goin' in," Mike told him firmly.

"I dunno, Mike-"

"He's my best friend, Cap! I'm not gonna leave him in there!"

Mike grabbed his air and mask and was suited up faster than he had in recent memory. Johnny was hauling Chet out of the building while Chet struggled to go back in. Johnny was shouting, "No! Chet, no! You can't! Your shoulder-! Dammit, Chet, stop it!" as Mike passed by. He only had to follow 51's lines. They lay heavy on the floor, drained of water from when Mike cut the supply. A few others followed Mike as he marched on toward his friend.

Roy was hauling debris off a prostrate Marco piece by piece, and he must've been doing so since the roof came down. He was showing signs of flagging. Mike stepped up to help, easily moving the heavy debris and tossing it aside. The warehouse was still hot, still thick with smoke, still burning across the way. Sweat rolled down Mike's spine, pooling at the small of his back. _Just keep digging, Stoker. Keep digging. It's Marco under there, remember? Dig!_ He worked like a man possessed.

"That's good, Mike! We can get to him now! C'mere, help me out…"

Mike hurried to Roy's side. The paramedic ordered him, "Careful with his neck and back… Make sure to keep 'em straight as possible… that's it…" then collected some others to help carry Marco out. Roy took his head to stabilize his neck, a guy from 8s took his feet, another from 45s his left side, leaving Mike with the right side. Outside, Johnny had a blanket laid out for Marco already and was treating Chet's shoulder, which had a long but shallow cut in it. He had to push the young lineman back down onto the squad running board when they approached with Marco, and Mike could hear the paramedic quietly trying to calm Chet.

He grabbed some of the supplies for Roy, ready to help, but Johnny asked him to sit with Chet instead while he worked with Roy on Marco. Mike almost protested but held his tongue. _Johnny knows what he's doing way better than I do. I would be in the way. I can't help Marco like he can._ He sat by Chet after pulling off his air bottle.

"Man, what happened to your hands, Mike?" Chet asked quietly.

Mike looked down. His palms were littered with cuts and splinters, bleeding sluggishly in places, and covered in soot. He must have forgotten to put his gloves on. He cleared his throat, wanting to change the subject, and asked, "What happened in there, Chet?"

"I really dunno, actually," he answered, "Me and Marco were holdin' a line, puttin' out those last few embers. I think-… I think when the roof came down, somethin' hit the stack of crates we were hosin' down and they went over. Marco… he pushed me outta the way when it happened. Thank God Johnny and Roy were right there."

Mike said nothing. He simply watched as Roy and Johnny worked on Marco and the ambulance arrived. Words escaped him. Words were useless. What good would it do, after all, to tell Chet he was terrified Marco was severely injured, was paralyzed, was comatose, was at death's door? Johnny came over to say something but stopped, replacing his original comment with, "Mike, what'd you do to your hands?"

"I-… I forgot to put my gloves on," he mumbled sheepishly, "I just-… I forgot."

Johnny clucked his tongue disapprovingly, saying, "You better go in the ambulance with Roy and Marco to get those hands looked at. Don't want 'em gettin' infected now…"

Roy raised an eyebrow at Mike getting into the ambulance until he saw his hands. Marco was still unconscious, though there was no blood anywhere on his that Mike could see. Mike wanted desperately to reach out and touch him, to anchor both of them, to let Marco know he was there and let himself know Marco was still alive. He cradled his hands uselessly in his lap.

"We think his ribs are cracked but not severely broken," Roy spoke up, "It's still gonna hurt like a bitch for about a month or so, but there's no reason he won't be alright. Same goes for that knot on his head and the concussion. Dr. Early'll make sure of that."

Mike nodded, still silent. He was beginning to feel the pain in his palms, somewhere between burning and throbbing and sharp, but he kept his eyes glued to Marco. The lineman's eyelids didn't even flutter. Mike swallowed against the lump in his throat and focused on the pain in his hands. It was enough to distract him from Marco's unnaturally still form. Roy stayed quiet, too, thankfully. Mike liked quiet. He preferred quiet in times like this over empty, repetitive words of attempted comfort.

Dr. Early looked over Marco while Dixie took care of cleaning Mike's hands. He jumped and gasped at the first touch of the alcohol, biting back a swear. She apologized but kept going, plucking out the splinters with a pair of tweezers. A resident student came in, a young, light-skinned black man with glasses. Early beckoned him over to watch him work. Heat flared up in Mike's chest, went creeping up his neck. _They're treating him like an experiment or an exhibit. Jesus, he's not some specimen for them to gawk at._ Dixie removed a particularly painful splinter, pulling Mike from his reverie and making him yelp loudly.

"There we go. He's coming around now."

xXxXx

The first thing Marco became aware of was a burning pain in his chest that wrapped around to his back. Breathing hurt. _So… broken ribs… fuck…_ He wasn't sure where he was. His eyes didn't want to cooperate and open so he had to guess. He supposed he could be dying in the warehouse… but the sounds weren't right. It was too quiet. _Maybe that's what dying sounds like. Quiet._ Sound… it was a sound that pulled him back this far, that started dragging him up from the black. A voice. The sound had been a voice, a pained yelp. _I know that voice… I know who that was…_

"M-ike…"

xXxXx

Mike's head jerked up. Marco just said his name. Dixie's grip on his wrists kept him in place, he ignored her as she carefully bandaged his hands. His gaze and attention were fixed on Marco. The lineman stirred slowly, moaning quietly and whimpering occasionally. His breathing shallowed, likely as he was confronted by the pain of his cracked ribs. Little muscles in his face twitched, his eyelids fluttering without opening. Except for Marco, the room was silent. Dixie released Mike's wrists, and he rose to his feet, going to his friend's side.

"Marco," he whispered, "Come on, Marco… I'm right here… C'mon, pal…"

xXxXx

Bright light began to assault Marco's eyes through his lids. Surely he was dead. There was a bright light and a quiet surrounding him… though the pain was surprise. The padre always said the pain went away when a person died, when they were called to Heaven, to _el reino de Dios_. He hoped he was going to Heaven, anyway. He hadn't lived a bad life. He was a fireman, a good one. He saved lives. He squeezed his eyes shut against the light. It was just too bright.

"Marco," a voice whispered, "Come on, Marco… I'm right here… C'mon, pal…"

He knew that voice, though. He knew it well, knew it better than anyone else's probably. He struggled to open his eyes. _I must be dead._ That could only be an angel standing over him, with mussed brown hair framed by light and lovely, sad blue eyes. There was a pressure on his right hand, a pressure and strange texture. Marco squeezed back, letting his eyes slip shut. _Go ahead. Take me. I'm ready, mi angel. Vamos._ He opened his eyes again, wanting to see his angel take him to Heaven.

xXxXx

Marco squeezed Mike's hand, and Mike felt another lump growing in his throat. Brown eyes opened slowly, gazing blearily up at him. Early leaned in, asking, "Marco? Marco, can you hear me?" and checking him over again. Marco's eyes didn't leave Mike's. The lineman's brow knitted with confusion.

"Mi-? Mike?"

"Yeah, it's me. It's Mike."

"Are-… are you-?" Marco rasped and wet his lips, "Are you dead, too?"

"No, Marco, I'm not dead, and neither are you. You're at Rampart Hospital. Do you remember what happened?"

His brown knitted further; he was clearly thinking hard. He wet his lips again.

"Well… uh, me an' Chet were holdin' there in the-the warehouse," Marco said slowly, his words slurring slightly, "We had just switched off, so-so I was backin' him up. Then there was-… I-I could hear somethin' breakin' overhead, bu-but before I could get Chet's attention, a-a few of the beams fell. I think it, uh, somethin' hit the stack of crates we just put out. They start-started comin' down, an-an' Chet wasn' payin' attention, so I-I-I shoved him outta the way. There's… I don' 'member much after that. I-Is Chet okay? Did he get hurt?"

"Just a 'lil cut on his shoulder," Roy answered, "Won't miss a shift."

"Seems you were pretty lucky, Marco," Early spoke up, "You've got some cracked ribs, plenty of bruises, and a nasty concussion, but it could've been much worse. We're going to keep you here for a few days just to make sure everything's alright, that the ribs are stable and that knock to the head isn't going to give you too much trouble. It'll be about six weeks before you're fully healed, I'm afraid, and I'll be providing you a prescription for a good painkiller when we release you. For now, we're going to get you up to another room where you can rest and get you settled in.

"As for you, Stoker, we're going to have you take off the rest of this shift and the next, just to give those cuts time to heal. Try to keep the bandages dry and come back tomorrow, and I'll change them for you. You can visit Lopez while you're here."

"Okay. Thanks, doc."

Mike and Roy bid Early and Dixie farewell. Johnny was waiting at the bay station, stocking up on supplies and chatting with a pretty young nurse, though he didn't seem to be getting too far.

"There ya are. How's Marco?" he asked when they approached, ignoring the young lady, "He alright? I'll be honest, I didn't think he was lookin' too good when y'all brought him out."

"He'll be alright," Roy answered, "Gonna be outta commission for about six weeks with some busted ribs. Early said five through seven were cracked on both sides at the front."

"But he was hit in the back."

Roy shrugged, "Happens that way sometimes. Knew a guy once who was playin' baseball, was the pitcher. Got nailed in the chest with a line drive, and it broke his ribs in the back."

"What about a concussion?"

"No, that guy didn't get a concu-"

"Not the baseball guy, Roy! Marco! Did Marco have a concussion? I saw that golf ball on his forehead."

"Oh… yeah. But it's not as bad as it could be, though it's not doin' him any favors, either."

Mike remained silent, picking at his bandages. _At least Dixie didn't give me mittens for hands with these things… that would be embarrassing._ Johnny gave him a little nudge, asking, "How 'bout you, Mike? You alright, man?"

"Yeah," Mike forced out, "Yeah, I'm alright, Johnny."

Roy supplied, "Mike's gonna be outta commission for a bit, too. Rest of the shift and the next one, though we're probably gonna be stood down for the rest of this shift anyway, with it bein' so late and us bein' a man- well, two men down."

"Yeah, well, the engine'll be stood down but probably not us, pally. Let's get back so we can Stoker ready to go before we get another run. C'mon, I'm all stocked up…"

xXxXx

There was a knock on Marco's hospital room door, and it slowly pushed open to reveal Mike's face.

"Hey there… mind if I come in?" he asked.

"Please do. I've been bored outta my skull."

The doctors and nurses weren't letting him do much of anything. He wasn't allowed to read or watch TV or even sleep properly. Someone would come in every hour or so and make him wake up and ask him a bunch of damn fool questions. _I'd probably heal quicker if they'd only let me rest and sleep._ Mike stepped shyly into the hospital room, closing the door behind him.

"Mike, what happened to your hands?"

He ducked his head, picking at the bandages, answering, "Oh, i-it's nothing, Marco-"

"It doesn't look like nothing. How'd you get hurt? You were at the engine."

A flush crept into the engineer's face, and he started chewing at his lip, still toying with the bandages. Mike was clamming up like he did sometimes, was likely to stay silent the whole time he was here if Marco didn't find a way to draw him out.

"Mike, c'mere and sit," Marco said, waiting patiently for him to do so before continuing, "Please tell me what happened, amigo. How'd you hurt your hands?"

"Cap told me to cut the line when the roof came down," Mike told him quietly, "Usually when that happens, it's because you guys had to drop the charged line because of injury or somethin' else serious. Then Cap said it was you that got hurt, got trapped under those crates, and I-… I just suited up and went in, and when I did, I, uh, I forgot to put my gloves on. So when I was helpin' Roy dig you out from under the debris, my hands got all cut up and full of splinters'n shit. Honestly, I didn't even realize it 'til Chet pointed it out. Just-… I dunno, I had to get you outta there."

Something warm fluttered in Marco's chest, something pleasant and nice that actually distracted him from the pain momentarily. Mike wasn't looking at him, instead gazing pointedly at his bandaged hands, thumb absently stroking his palm. There was still a flush to Mike's cheeks, at least where Marco could see. _I thought he was an angel when I first came to… thought he was an angel come to take me to Heaven._ He shifted to try and reach out to Mike but let out a pained grunt. Mike picked up his head at last, his blue eyes wide with concern.

"Are you alright, Marco?" he asked quickly, "Do you need anything? Should I get-"

"No, I'm fine. I just tried to move too fast, I guess," Marco replied, his voice a little tighter than normal, "Y'know, you forget exactly how connected everything is 'til something goes down. _Ay Dios_ , everything hurts: breathing, moving, talking, coughing… I don't even wanna think about laughing or sneezing. Come to think of it, thinking hurts, too."

Mike gave a little smile, and Marco smiled back. _He looked like an angel yesterday, with a halo of light and beautiful blue eyes… He looks like an angel now._ The fluttering was back, the soft warmth, the lightness in his veins.

"I'm… I'm glad you're okay, Marco," Mike said quietly, "I'm really glad."

"Thanks for saving me and making sure I would be."

Mike ducked his head again, but Marco could see he was still smiling. A cold dread began to creep in on his warmth. Marco forced it away, tried to shove it down. He was sure he knew what these feelings meant… and that was something that had consequences he didn't want to think about just now. He focused on the warmth.


	4. The 51s Welcoming Committee

_**Warnings: mild language, extremely brief mentions of illness and death in the family**_

 _ **...does the guys being super adorable need a warning, too?**_

* * *

"How do they do it?"

Roy turned to look at Johnny.

"How do they do what?"

Johnny gestured toward the kitchen, saying, "Mike and Marco! They're in there makin' dinner and not sayin' a damn word to one another! It's incredible!"

"Why? They've been doin' it for months now, Junior. Did you just notice?"

"I- wha- no! No, I didn't just notice! I just don't get how they do it, Roy."

"How they do what?"

Johnny was giving him the look that meant he didn't understand why Roy didn't understand. Roy knew he was wearing his usual expression of exasperation.

"Roy, the two of them know _everything_. All the time. Like right now they're makin' a whole meal and barely sayin' two words to each other. In fact, they barely ever say more'n two words to each other, but they still know things. Like, I mean, I know they hang out in their off-time, and they must talk then, but that doesn't explain everything. When do they talk?"

"I couldn't tell you," Roy replied, "Mike's just a quiet guy by nature, doesn't talk much, period. Most I've heard him talk was the other day when Hammer was leavin'. Why are you so concerned about it?"

"I just- it-it's just weird, is all."

"What, that they can go more than five seconds without talking?"

That earned him the signature dirty look. _Poor Captain Stanley… man has no idea what he's in for…_ Hammer was promoted to chief, and their new captain was a recently promoted one, a man named Hank Stanley. Roy had asked around the department, and not one fireman had a bad thing to say about Stanley. He'd been an engineer for quite a while, and anyone who'd worked with him genuinely seemed to like him, (though one or two may have mentioned a high-strung moment at the station), said there wasn't a more level-headed man at a fire. Roy certainly hoped Stanley would be able to handle 51s.

"It's just odd that they both always know everything, including what the other is gonna say or do, all without speaking."

"What's so weird about it? You and I do it while we're on-scene."

"It's different. That's work. We can all do that with each other while we're workin'."

"Well, me and Joanne do it."

"That's different, too. You're married to Joanne."

 _Is it so different?_ Roy had noticed the interesting behavior almost from the first. Mike and Marco got along right away, started hanging out off-shift their first day off. Their ability to communicate without words was uncanny. A gesture or a simple look was all they needed, and it happened to drive Johnny and Chet insane. Like Roy had said, he and Johnny could do the same on a run, but Mike and Marco did it all the time around the station. If Roy were being truly honest with himself, the only time he'd really seen two people do that was when those two people were a couple… a married couple.

Now, Mike and Marco were certainly not married, not only because it wasn't legal but because someone would know. There would be signs, like them living together or-… well, that was the only one Roy could think of that he hadn't seen. They didn't act flustered around one another like someone with a crush might, but Roy recalled that he and Joanne had never been like that, either. From the day they met in fourth grade and Roy went home and told his mom and stepdad he found the girl he was going to marry, there had never been a moment of awkwardness. The two of them just fit together, right from the start. Maybe it was the same with Mike and Marco.

"Goddammit, Chet!"

Chet's cackling laugh floated into the bay. Roy just shook his head and went into the kitchen. He liked watching Mike and Marco work on dinner anyway.

xXxXx

Marco and Mike were the obvious choices to make Capt. Stanley's welcome dinner. They were by and large the best cooks, and they worked together best, worked in perfect concert, seemed to instinctively know how the other would move. It was almost a dance between them. Tonight, they were preparing spaghetti and meatballs for dinner, salad with homemade vinaigrette to start, and they were even making a small cake for dessert. Marco and Mike all but waltzed with each other around the small kitchen, stepping this way and that.

Mike was graceful, Marco came to notice, more graceful than firemen tended to be. When necessary, he moved with a fluid grace, easily sidestepping and turning. His hands were especially interesting to Marco. They were rough and calloused and big, firemen's hands, working hands. Those hands weren't meant to be graceful or move beautifully, but they did. His hands were expressive, even in their slightest movements. He could haul lines and operate a chainsaw and knock down a door, but his hands were delicate enough to carefully operate the pumps and cook a meal and comfort a frightened victim.

Everything about Mike was like that, somehow both strong and gentle all at once: his long limbs, his not quite rugged features, his big and expressive hands and fingers. _Especially his hands and fingers._ Shortly after he broke his ribs, Marco had come to a startling realization, one that hit him like a proverbial freight train. He found Mike attractive. More accurately, he was attracted to Mike. There was love, too, but love came easily to Marco. He loved all the guys at 51s, would lay down his life for any one of them, but Mike was different. He couldn't say he wanted to ravish the other man, but he could say with certainty that Mike was hot.

Mike gave him a nudge, and Marco looked over to see where Mike was in his recipe, quickly retrieving what he needed and handing it over. Marco checked his watch and went to pull the cake out of the oven while Mike put the meatballs in.

"How'd you get so good at cooking?" Marco asked, working on his vinaigrette.

"I've told you that before."

"Well, tell me again. I like the story."

Mike smiled, a shy smile Marco loved, and said, "We had an aunt that lived with us, Aunt Stella, my mom's brother's widow. Originally Stella Colombera, then Stella Wright. She loved cooking. She could make anything after one look at the recipe, and sometimes she didn't even need that. She'd just make something up off the top of her head, just like that. I loved Aunt Stella, and the best way to spend time with her was to cook with her. She taught me how to bake and grill and sauté and make sauce. She even taught me how to make my own pasta from scratch. What about you, Marco? How'd you get so good at cooking?"

"I've told you that before," he smirked.

"Tell me again."

They shared a smile, and Marco explained, "When you're one of nine kids, you need to kinda learn to fend for yourself, but you also have to be able to take care of others, especially the younger kids. I was the middle child, five of nine, so I got taken care of and then had to take care of others. It was _mi abuela_ who taught us _niños_ how to cook. Told us we had to be able to fend for ourselves one day and that everyone should have a few things they could make from memory for each course. Cooking was something we could all do together, all us _niños y mi mama y mi abuela_."

"Guess we just have good memories from making meals," Mike commented.

"Yeah… Abuela still cooks at big meals, only she moves a little slower than before."

Marco looked at his friend and saw him wearing a wistful smile, the blue eyes full of remembrance.

"Aunt Stella died right after I graduated the Fire Academy, just about a month after. The night of the graduation, though, she made a huge dinner and invited the whole family. God, I still remember that spread. She made everything under the sun. We had leftovers for weeks. Then, it was about a month after that she had a nasty fall that put her in the hospital. She got septic, then got pneumonia, and that was it. _Arrivederci_ , Aunt Stella."

Marco said nothing. He knew Mike would prefer it that way. Instead, he simply laid a reassuring hand on Mike's forearm, offering him a gentle smile. A rough hand rested on his briefly, sending warmth and lightness up his arm to settle in his abdomen.

xXxXx

Roy smiled behind his paper at the two men making dinner, slightly more curious than before. Mike and Marco silently nudged each other for ingredients, easily working in tandem. _Maybe there is something there between them._ Roy liked to think he was a modern kind of guy. He'd known some guys in the Army who were gay (closeted, of course), and there were one or two people he knew outside of work he was pretty sure were homosexual. He really didn't think homosexuals were different from anyone else. They fell in love and out of love and had the same concerns as everyone else. He was ashamed to feel a tendril of disgust when he wondered if either man had ever 'looked' at him. His friends should not disgust him, not just because they may be homosexual. _Now, if they were serial killers or rapists or cannibals, that would disgust me._

Mike and Marco leaned in a little closer, speaking to each other in low tones, both wearing similar shy smiles. Roy would not have been surprised if they started giggling. _They sure do look happy when they're together… and I suppose that's all that matters, whether or not they're happy._ Marco laid a hand on Mike's arm, and Mike covered it with one of his own. The way they smiled at each other… Warmth bloomed in Roy's chest. The door to the kitchen opened to reveal Capt. Stanley.

"Cap, not yet!" the cooks chorused.

"Well, why not?" he asked, hands on his hips.

"Because we're trying to surprise you-" Mike started.

"-and if you see what we're doing, it's not a surprise anymore," Marco finished.

"You're lettin' DeSoto sit right there and watch ya," Stanley commented.

"We're not trying to surprise him," Marco replied.

Roy piped up, "I think they're tryin' to say 'shoo', Cap. If I were you, I'd go check on Chet and Johnny. They're being too quiet."

When Stanley finally gave in and left the kitchen grumbling, Roy decided to get up and follow him. He told Mike and Marco, "Good luck, fellas," on the way out, wondering if they would discern the double meaning.

xXxXx

"Is the coast clear?" Johnny hissed from outside.

"Yeah, hurry up," Mike answered.

Johnny and Chet snuck in with some decorations. Mike thought it was a little silly at first, to decorate and have a cake and everything, but Marco and the others convinced him otherwise. Light banter filtered in from Johnny and Chet while Mike and Marco finished the food.

"Y'know, Mike," Marco said quietly, "you should come to one of my family's dinners sometime."

There was a warm flutter in Mike's stomach.

"Oh, I couldn't. I wouldn't wanna impose-"

"It wouldn't be imposing. Look, my family's Mexican, and if there's one thing Mexican families like, it's getting together for a big meal, and _mi mama_ is always looking for someone else to fatten up."

"Nine isn't enough for her to feed?" Mike asked.

"Well, there's seven kids, some of them have spouses now, boyfriends, girlfriends, a multitude of cousins and _their_ spouses, boyfriends, and girlfriends… Our parties get pretty big, and there's still always too much food. We need someone else to take home leftovers. I'd love for you to come with me sometime."

Mike had half a mind to ask why the number of children dropped from nine to seven, but he thought better of it. _Now is certainly neither the time nor the place. Not today. I hope he'll tell me one day, though._ Family was one thing they never really brought up except for Marco mentioning he was one of nine children and where they learned to cook. There were things Mike absolutely wanted to tell Marco, that he already trusted him to know but wasn't brave enough to tell him just yet… the least of which being that he loved him.

He wasn't sure he was in love with Marco, but he was certain that he loved him. Mike did not love freely or easily, not like some people. He picked a few good people and latched onto them, and Marco was the best yet. He made Mike feel comfortable and warm and pleasant, and comfortable was the most important.

Mike liked everything about Marco. The man was kind, unselfish, good-hearted, and loyal. He always wore a smile, especially for Mike, one that reflected his warm attitude. His good looks certainly didn't hurt, with that handsomely tan skin, brown eyes that looked almost black but in sunlight took on a deep golden hue, toned muscle in his chest and arms and back and legs. Marco was nice to look at, that was for damn sure. His hands often drew Mike's attention, too. They were rough firemen's hands, calloused and scarred, but they were as warm and kind as the rest of him. Mike knew they could be gentle, too.

He'd seen Marco patiently administer oxygen to a family dog, carefully holding and distracting little kids after car accidents, comforting an elderly Latina woman whose husband was taken to the hospital, and now watched him carefully mix together the ingredients for the cake frosting and apply it to the cake. Mike would be lying if he said he hadn't wondered what those hands would feel like on his body.

"You alright, Mike?" Marco asked, "You look a little flushed."

"Oh, I'm fine. Just thinkin', is all."

"Musta been somethin' nice," he smirked, "Here, you write on the cake. You have better handwriting."

"Yeah, well, handwriting has nothing to do with cake decorating. You're lucky I've done this before or this would look six kinds of fucked up."

Mike made a little piping bag the way Aunt Stella taught him and carefully wrote 'Welcome to 51s, Cap' on top of the small cake. He and Marco popped the cake in the fridge, then helped Chet and Johnny finish setting the table.

"You think the new Cap is gonna like it?" Chet queried, sounding honestly curious.

They stepped back, looking over their handiwork. A banner hung over the table, proclaiming 'WELCOME CAP' in painted red block letters. Marco had procured a fairly nice tablecloth from his mother to make it look a bit nicer, and Mike had carefully arranged the tableware and everything so it all looked like a picture from a magazine.

"I think the new Cap is gonna love it."

Everyone turned. Capt. Stanley stood in the doorway, wearing a genuinely happy smile, his eyes suspiciously misty.

"Aw, Cap, you were supposed to wait!" Chet spoke up.

"Yeah," Johnny agreed, "we had it all planned out to surprise ya."

"Believe me, Gage. I am very surprised… and very happy," Stanley told them, "This is-… this is incredible, fellas. You all don't know how much it means to me for you guys to be so welcoming."

"We're glad to have you, Cap," Mike said, "We only hope you'll feel the same way about us."

"Me, too, Stoker. Now, c'mon, let's sit down and dig into this food…"

Marco sat beside Mike, helping him dole out food. Cap had nothing but praise for their skills, wanting to know if he could expect this kind of food every shift. There was plenty of laughter around the table that night, lots of joking and storytelling Mike kept himself out of, as usual. Marco helped him do so, expertly deflecting attention away from Mike when needed, something for which Mike extremely grateful.

The cake went over well, too, surprising Cap again with its kind message and the fact that it was all made from scratch.

"Thanks, fellas. I really mean it. It means a lot to have you guys bein' so welcoming to a-a new captain. I sure hope I can live up to your expectations. Now, someone go call us go us in available so we can go back to work, huh?"

Roy went to follow Cap's suggestion while Mike and Marco worked on cleaning all the dishes. Marco's shoulder bumped up against Mike's every so often, and Mike found he rather liked it. He liked the proximity, the closeness, the warmth.

"Thank you, Marco," he whispered before he could stop himself.

They turned to look at each other, smiling. Marco's dark brown eyes searched his briefly, and comfortable warmth fluttered in Mike's belly.

"You're welcome, Mike… for everything."

Mike inched closer to Marco there at the sink and passed him another dish to be dried. _I think I'm letting myself get too deep… but goddamn, the falling is just so much fun._


	5. Meet the Parents

_**Warnings: some mild language, brief mention of homophobic slurs, mentions of past death**_

 _ **I did my best with the Spanish here, so if something is terribly wrong, please let me know so I can fix it. The same goes for the other form of communication used herein.**_

* * *

"Wow… you weren't kiddin', Marco," Mike said as they pulled up to Marco's mother's house, "This does look like the party of the year."

"I tried to tell you. There's no better _fiesta_ in LA."

Cars were lined up around the block, though Marco managed to pull his '69 Charger right up to the house, as if there was some unwritten rule that the immediate family got spots in front of the house. From what Marco told him, this was the celebration of Sra. Santillian-Lopez's 88th birthday, so all sides of the family were converging on the Lopez household. Mike could already smell the food. His stomach growled loudly, and Marco laughed.

"C'mon, we'll go right in and find _mi abuela_ , and then we can eat," Marco told him, "Now, Abuela Jesusa doesn't speak much English, _solo español para mi abuela_. I really think you'll like everyone Mike, and I'm sure they'll like you, too. I think… yeah, Abuela should be in here."

He took Mike by the elbow to help him maneuver through the house. _It's hard to believe a family of eleven lived in here._ It wasn't much bigger than a house for a family of four. There were a few people who greeted Marco and gave Mike a warm hello. He could hear people talking outside, chattering in an excited mix of English and Spanish. Mike felt very out of place, unused to being in the minority and suddenly very aware of it. Marco, as if sensing his discomfort, tightened his grip on Mike's elbow, and it set him at ease.

"Abuela Jesusa! _Feliz cumpleaños!_ " Marco grinned.

" _Ay, mi Marquiño! Mi bombero valeroso…_ "

Marco's abuela was a darling old woman, with silver hair and a kind, brown face. She and Marco exchanged a few words in Spanish, then Marco gestured Mike closer, saying, " _Este es mi mejor amigo,_ Mike, _desde la estación. Trabajamos juntas como bomberos._ "

Mike smiled, greeting the old woman, " _Hola,_ Sra. Lopez. _Mucho gusto_ ," in a poor Spanish accent. She returned the smile with, " _Igualmente_ ," then said more Mike didn't understand. He looked to Marco, who translated, "She said she's very pleased to meet you, to finally meet someone I work with, and she's very happy you could come to her _fiesta_. The more people at a party, the happier it is. She hopes you will enjoy yourself and feel like one of the family… and she says to call her Abuela Jesusa like everyone else, not Sra. Lopez."

" _Si_ , Abuela Jesusa."

"And she says your _español_ needs a little work," Marco smirked.

"Well, then I suppose you'll just hafta help me out with it," Mike answered.

"Alright, Abuela, _estaremos alrededor. Disfrute de su fiesta. Hasta luego._ "

Marco led Mike out to the yard, which was packed with people, adults and children. He found himself quickly introduced to Marco's siblings, to brothers Rogelio, Diego, and Aarón, and to sisters Adoración, Caridad, and Pilar. Once more, Mike held his tongue on asking where the other two siblings were. Everyone was incredibly kind, offering Mike plates of food, wanting to try everything that had been made. Marco's mother was the chief culprit, calling Mike 'flaco' and trying to feed him up.

She insisted Mike call her Rosario and talked his ear off asking questions about their work, but Mike liked her very much. She was a plump woman but not fat, streaks of grey in her dark hair, her skin the exact shade of tan as her son. Rosario brought over another plate of food, saying, "I've been telling Marquiño for years now to invite his firemen friends to our big fiestas. You work with him like that, with each other like that, you become _familia_ , and if you are Marco's _familia_ , then you are our _familia_ , too."

"I'm-? I'm the first guy from the department he's invited over, then?"

" _Si_. _Mi_ Marquiño has told me so much about you, Mike. He is telling me always about what a good cook you are, how the two of you enjoy cooking and spending your time together. He thinks of you as a very good friend, _su amigo mejor._ Truly… I could not believe it when he told me about you for the first time. Do you know what your name is _en español_ , Mike?"

"Uh… Miguel, I think."

" _Exactamente_. Miguel," Rosario told him, her voice lowering, her expression softening, "I had a Miguelito once, between _mi_ Adoración _y mi_ Caridad. He was-… ask Marco. Ask him later. I know he wants to tell you. He only waits for you to ask him. Oh," she sighed quietly, placing a hand on Mike's cheek, "I know he would have been as handsome as you were he here. _Bien_ , you finish eating, Mike. It's been good speaking with you."

He watched her wave down Marco's older sister, Caridad and the woman she brought with her. Mike set his plate aside, no longer hungry.

"Mike, are you alright?" Marco asked coming over, "You look kinda down."

"Oh, it's nothing. I'm alright, just-… I'm not really used to bein' around so many people at once. It's a little overwhelming, honestly."

"Do you wanna go home?"

"No, I'm alright, really. I'm enjoying myself, Marco. I just need to… sit quietly for a minute."

 _There's that look again, the lie detector._ Marco scrutinized Mike carefully for a long moment, then sat down beside him, picking a plate of fruit he had with him.

"Who's that woman your sister brought? Caridad's friend?" Mike queried after a brief, companionable silence.

"Hmm? Oh, that's Maristela, Cari's girlfriend."

Mike almost choked on his beer.

"Girl-? Wha-?"

Marco shrugged, "They've been together for almost… seven years now. They live together and everything. Actually, they're pretty much married in every way but on paper."

"And your family's okay with it? With her bein' a-a-?"

"A lesbian? Yeah, they are now," Marco replied calmly, "They weren't at first, for about a year, but they came around when they realized she wasn't gonna change. Now, they're just Tia Cari and Tia Mari. The kids are the best at accepting it, really. It's kinda nice."

Mike felt his heart pounding in his chest. He asked, "Nice?" knowing the next words from Marco would be some of the most important he's ever heard.

"That the kids and family are so accepting," he replied easily, "I mean, we've seen a ton of different kinds of people on the job, and well… everyone deserves the same treatment from us, deserves quality treatment, deserves our kindness and respect on the worst day of their lives. I don't think it should be any different when we're off-duty. We all bleed red, as they say. What difference does it make who they fall in love with and choose to spend their lives with? It doesn't."

He turned those dark brown eyes on Mike, wearing a calm expression, a simple that told Mike he believed his words couldn't be plainer. They sat close together on the bench, close enough for their knees to touch. Mike remembered a run they had about three weeks before, where some guy thought it would be a great idea to torch a gay bar with the patrons still inside. He'd been arrested at the scene, having been found screaming his head off about 'fags' and 'queers' and 'filthy homos' and being beaten within an inch of his life by said queers. Mike had been horrified by the level of malice required for this man to set fire to a building full of people… and later angry by the fact that not one major news outlet mentioned it. Twenty people were hospitalized by an act of cruelty and terror, and no one seemed to care.

Mike looked out over the assembled party. He and Marco were at a picnic bench under a tree, sitting in the shade where Mike had moved to keep from being sunburnt and keep out of the hubbub. Children laughed and shouted all over the place. People chatted happily in English and Spanish, picking at plates of food.

"Thanks for inviting me, Marco," Mike said quietly, "I'm glad I'm here."

"I'm glad you're here, too. Mama really likes you, y'know. She can't get enough of-"

"What happened to your brother, Miguel?" Mike blurted out, unable to hold back the question any longer and feeling like an asshole for bringing it up.

Marco sighed, "I guess Mama mentioned him?"

"Yeah… she did."

"That's why you were so down earlier, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. She, uh… she said you talked about me a lot and that she was surprised when you said what my name was… because it was basically your brother's name."

Marco's head tipped down, and he set his plate of fruit aside. Mike spoke up, "I'm sorry, Marco, I didn't mean to make you upset. I just-… I couldn't stop-… shit, I'm sorry-," but Marco stepped in, "No, it's fine. I've been meaning to tell you about it, just… it's not very easy to talk about."

Marco took a deep breath, letting it out in a long, steadying sigh.

"Miguel was older than me by three years, and we were pretty close. He made some dumb decisions when he was a kid, fell into the wrong crowd, started hangin' out with gangsters and shit like that. Then came the alcohol and the drugs and the violence… and at age nineteen he was gunned down by a rival gang. I-… I saw it happen."

Mike's stomach twisted unhappily. He rested a hand on Marco's shoulder, squeezing it gently and telling him, "Oh, God… I'm sorry, Marco. That's-that's horrible."

"It was. I was sixteen," Marco continued in a soft voice, "We went to the corner store for a snack, and they shot him in broad daylight about a block from here. Killed him outright. Almost killed me, too. I took a bullet through the stomach, which doesn't kill quite as fast as a bullet to the head. I remember I woke up from surgery and started to cry my eyes out because the first thing I remembered was that I watched my brother die. Honestly… sometimes, I still feel like that. Not as often as when it first happened, but-… well, something like that never goes away."

Marco picked his head up and looked at Mike. He'd never seen such a deep sadness before. It was a sadness borne for years, held deep inside, kept secret from everyone. Marco added, "I think the worst thing about it is knowing it was partly his fault, that if he hadn't been a-a gangbanger, he probably wouldn't be dead. I don't wanna blame him, but… some of the blame is-… was his. I was sixteen, and just like that, _mi hermano_ was gunned down right in front of me… _mi hermano_ Miguel."

"That had to be rough on your parents, too."

"Papa was already dead, and maybe that was part of the problem. It was really hard on Mama, when we lost my youngest sister the year before, Teresa, to meningitis and pneumonia. I think that was worse. She was only nine."

Mike's hand left Marco's shoulder and slipped down to his lower back, trying to be a comforting presence. Marco leaned into him slightly, and Mike's thumb absently stroked at his back, allowing himself to perform the risky maneuver since no one could see. Words seemed useless. _What could I possibly say to make this better? Nothing he hasn't already heard._

"You're a good friend, Mike… a good man," Marco said quietly, "This is gonna sound-… uh, well, I'm glad I met you. There are times I think about it, and I realize how blessed I am to know you."

Heat crept into Mike's face, warmth flooding his cheeks. Marco was the only person to make him feel like this since his teens, to make him feel light and warm and comfortable and happy. He looked so perfect and handsome there under the broken sunlight filtering through the naked branches of the tree, his eyes a deep, dark golden-brown. Now, he'd laid out a whole secret part of his life to Mike, something he'd kept buried for many years.

"I-… that's-… well, I-I feel the same way, Marco," Mike replied softly.

"Marco! Mike! Hurry up! It's time for Abuela Jesusa's cake! Come on!" Pilar called.

The two firemen rose to their feet and jogged toward the house with everyone else.

xXxXx

"You're sure it's alright for me to come to dinner at your parents', Mike?" Marco asked, still a little nervous.

"Of course. I invited you. Mom and Dad have wanted me to come to dinner for a while now, and I wanted to return the favor from when you invited me to Abuela Jesusa's birthday party a couple weeks ago," Mike replied, guiding his D100 along the highway toward Topanga Canyon, "Plus, they wanna meet you. I might've mentioned your name once or twice."

"So you're talkin' about me now?"

"Only good things, man. Only good things."

Marco's nervousness was not eased. Topanga Canyon was known for money and wealth. He pictured big houses with manicured lawns, a place so unlike the place he grew up. Mike had told him his dad was a lawyer, that he'd fought in WWII, and that his sister and her family lived with them, but nothing else. A little thrill had run through Marco when Mike invited him to a family dinner. The two of them grew closer at Abuela's party, helped by Marco's honesty about his family history. Mike pulled his truck up to a large, handsome house on the outskirts of Topanga Canyon.

"Wow… is this where you grew up?" Marco asked.

"Uh… yeah. This is the ol' homestead."

He put the truck in park but made no move to get out. Marco's gaze briefly dropped to see his tongue dart out to wet his lips. Mike sighed, saying, "I'm-… I've been keepin' a-a pretty big secret about my family of my own, Marco, and honestly, I-I don't really know why."

Marco said nothing, giving Mike time to put his words together.

"When-… when you meet my parents," Mike said slowly, color in his cheeks, "do this… copy me…"

Mike brought his hands up, sliding his right palm over his left, then stuck his index fingers up, left in front of right, and brought them together. When Marco copied him to his satisfaction, he made a series of shapes with his hand for Marco to repeat, at one point reaching out and helping put his fingers in the right place.

"Good… that's good… Now, you can say 'Nice to meet you, I'm Marco,' in sign language."

"Your parents are deaf?"

"Since the day I was born."

"Why didn't you say before?"

"Like I said, I dunno. I'm not ashamed of them, of them being deaf, it's just-… I dunno. I guess I don't want people feelin' sorry for me… or for them," Mike said quietly, "There's no reason to pity us, but I know people will, so I just kinda keep a secret. I know I shoulda told you sooner."

"Well, I know now. At least you told me before I got in there and looked like an idiot."

They shared a smile and finally exited the truck. Mike led him inside, where they were greeted by a woman with hair the same deep brown as Mike, her face just beginning to show signs of age in the first lines at the corners of her light brown eyes.

"Hi, Libby. How ya been?"

"Oh, just fine, Mike. Just fine," Libby answered, "Oh, you must be Marco. I'm Libby Carlisle, Mike's sister. He's just told us so much about you, and all of it wonderful. Here, come on in. Mom and Dad are in the living room with George and Rose and Violet. I've just got a little to finish in the kitchen."

Marco was starting to feel nervous now, not wanting to screw up the greeting he'd been taught just minutes earlier. He actually stopped Mike before they went into the living room to practice one last time, trying to ignore the warm flutter in his stomach when Mike smiled and gently corrected the placement of his fingers.

"Mom, Dad, this is my friend I've been telling you about," Mike said, signing at the same time, his hands and fingers elegantly weaving words.

Mike gave Marco a little nudge, and he repeated the signs Mike taught him, his own fingers clumsy and unsure. Mr. and Mrs. Stoker smiled kindly. Mike and his sister resembled their mother most in terms of facial features and coloring, though Mike's height and blue eyes came from their father. Mrs. Stoker began signing while Mike translated, "Hi, Marco. I'm Susan, and this is my husband, Edgar. We're very pleased to meet you. Mike's told us so much about you."

"Oh, Marco, this is my brother-in-law, George," Mike spoke up, still signing, "and my nieces, Rose and Violet. Guys, this is my good friend Marco, from the station."

Rose was a willowy girl of about twelve, wearing her auburn hair in a long braid with a ribbon, whereas Violet was a sturdy child of maybe seven or eight, still with baby fat and brown ringlets in pigtails. George shook his hand firmly. Mike added, "They're all hearing, but we like to sign in front of the girls so they keep learning. It really seems to work well."

"Rosie, Vi, come with me," George said, beckoning the girls, also signing though not as fluidly as Mike, "We're gonna go see if we can help Mommy in the kitchen, okay? Let Uncle Mike and his friend catch up with Pappy and Gramma. C'mere…"

Marco was honestly surprised when Mr. Stoker spoke, "How've you been, Mike? We don't hear from you often enough."

"I'm just very busy at the station," Mike explained, "We usually have a lot going on, plus they like me to cook a lot."

Mrs. Stoker began signing, and Mike replied, "I know I'm a good cook, Mom, but it keeps me busy. Marco, too."

He waited for his mother to sign again.

"Yes, Marco likes to cook, too. I told you that the last time I was here."

"That was months ago," Mr. Stoker stated, then translated for his wife, "You don't come around often enough. Only a few times a year. And this is the first time we've met any of the firemen you work with. Sometimes, I think you're ashamed of us, Mike."

"Mom, you know that's not true."

"Then why?"

"Can we not argue in front of Marco?" Mike asked, raising his eyebrows to emphasize his signing.

Marco was grateful for the intervention. The conversation lightened to questions of how work had been, how Mike and Marco met, what they did in their free time. Mike easily translated as Marco spoke, his rough hands forming the elegant motions.

"Dinner's ready!" Libby called from the kitchen.

Mike alerted his parents, letting them go in front so he could walk behind with Marco.

"Are you having a good time?" he asked.

"I am. I thought it would be really weird at first, when you first told me they were deaf, but I really am having a great time. Your parents are really nice. Just… well, I thought you said both your parents were deaf, but your dad was talking."

"I promise to tell you on the way home," Mike replied, "It's kind of a long story. For now, I think we should just eat."

Marco took a seat beside Mike and found himself fielding similar questions from before.

"So, you're a fireman like Uncle Mike?" Rose asked.

"Yup, we started working together when we transferred to Station 51," Marco explained, "We were all new to the station because it was new built. They put out a notice for guys to transfer over. We were lucky enough to be put on the same shift."

"Is Uncle Mike your best friend?" Violet piped up.

He smiled, answering honestly, "Yes. Your Uncle Mike is my best friend."

Something in him hated that, though. He liked being Mike's friend well enough, but he wanted more. They just fit so perfectly together, could already half-read each other's mind, felt so easy and calm with one another. It was as if they had known each other for decades. _Abuela Jesusa always said that when a person meets their soulmate, everything just feels right. There's no sparks, no fireworks, no fanfare. You just know because your heart feels right._ That's how he felt with Mike. Meeting him was the best thing to ever happen to Marco. He hoped Mike felt the same.

"Now, Marco, Mike has told us a lot about you, especially your cooking," Libby told him, smiling, "We heard all about the new captain's welcome dinner. Maybe we'll have to have the two of you cook for us sometime."

"I'd be happy to do it, but if Mike's helping, then I guess it's partly his decision, too."

"I guess I could help, as long as you make something good."

"Everything I make is good."

"You made chili for breakfast the other day."

"So?"

"So who has chili for breakfast?"

"Mexicans do! All the time! _Mi abuelo_ on Mama's side lived to be over a hundred, and he had chili almost every day."

"And what did he die of?"

"What did he die of? Old age! He was over a hundred!"

George almost spit out his drink. _God, we even fight like an old married couple._ He was the only one Mike would have these verbal sparring matches with. With the others, Mike would just lob a brutal one-liner and return to silence with a smirk. _Guess he just knows how to make a guy feel special._ Mike made a few signs to his mother, and Marco watched intently, thinking about having those hands all over his body. He's had a few dreams already, dreams of roaming hands and lips, of touching and kissing and sucking. They're the best dreams he'd ever had.

The two of them left fairly early, needing to work the next morning. Marco thanked everyone (and learned how to do so in sign language), and Mrs. Stoker invited him back any time.

"Thanks for inviting me, Mike. I really enjoyed meeting your family," Marco told him once they were out in his truck.

"Well, I wanna thank you for coming," Mike replied, "Everyone likes you, especially Mom. She said so herself. You acted normal, too, which is more than I can say for most people."

"Hey, you promised to tell me more about them, about your parents."

"Well, my mom was born deaf. She went to special schools and everything to learn how to sign and get along in the hearing world. When she married Dad, he was hearing, actually. They knew each other because their fathers worked together in the same law firm. Honestly, the story's really cute. My dad started learning sign so he could take my mom out on a date and they could talk to each other. They got married a year later.

"Libby was born not long after, but Dad joined the Navy right after Pearl Harbor, when I wasn't quite six months. That's when he lost his hearing. Dad's not completely deaf, but he needs a hearing aid to hear even moderately well. It's good he already knew how to sign pretty much. Me and Libby grew up signing with our parents, and we spoke verbally to Aunt Stella. It worked out really well. Libby does some translation in her free time, actually, like if you would translate for someone who only spoke Spanish and didn't even understand listening to English."

"I do do that. I've done it plenty of times on scene."

"Yeah, but you don't get paid for it. Anyway, that's the deal. That's really it. I mean, I had a regular childhood like anyone else: had a sister, played with neighbor kids, did sports, everything kids from hearing families did," Mike stated with a shrug.

"I think it's incredible," Marco replied, "especially the story about your parents. It was sweet of your dad to start learning a whole new language so he could communicate with your mom."

"They always say love can make people do amazing things… incredible things…"

His voice was soft, and Marco thought he heard a note of hope there. He hoped he did, anyway. He wanted to. _I'll do it for you, Mike. I'd learn to sign so we could talk like that, and I would teach you every word of Spanish if you wanted._ Mike pulled up to Marco's apartment building.

"You want some coffee, Mike?"

Blue eyes regarded him carefully, for what felt like a long moment.

"Sure, I'd like that."

Marco kept himself from jumping for joy, but he couldn't keep a grin from breaking out on his face.


	6. That Dance We Do

_**Warnings: some language, descriptions of injuries, some blood.**_

* * *

It had been an innocent remark, really.

"Hey, Marco, I was thinkin' of headin' to the beach for a couple days to do some fishin'. You wanna come?" Mike asked while they cleaned up the bay one afternoon.

"I'd love to, but I can't," Marco replied, "I was actually gonna look for some extra shifts… and probably another place to live."

"Really? How come?"

"Landlord just jacked up the rent big time. Rumor has it he's tryin' to sell to some developer so he wants everyone gone. A bunch of people already moved out, so now he says the rent went up 'cause he can't fill the openings."

"Isn't-? Isn't that illegal?"

"I dunno, probably, but it's too much fuss to deal with a lawyer at this point. It's just easier to move. Place was furnished, anyway, so at least I won't have that to move."

"Where ya gonna go?" Mike asked.

Marco shrugged and kept sweeping. Maybe Mike would mention an opening in his building, somewhere he could be closer to him, could spend more time with him.

"Would you wanna live with a roommate?" Mike queried after a moment.

"Maybe," Marco replied, "I'd need someone I'd get along with, though. I don't think I'd wanna chance it and end up with someone like Chet or Johnny."

Mike snorted at that, saying, "Yeah, I get the feeling they'd be difficult to live with."

"Living with them here doesn't tell you enough?"

There was another snort. They continued to sweep and mop for a few more seconds before Mike spoke up again, asking, "Any ideas on what you'd want in a roommate, Marco?"

 _Someone like you._ He pretended to think about it for a moment and replied, "Well, definitely someone I get along with, like I said, someone who likes a lot of the same things I do… they should be neat and clean, or at least not a total slob… and they should definitely have a job and be able to pay rent and utilities. No bums."

"Would you-? No…" Mike muttered, color rising in his cheeks, "Nevermind, it's a stupid idea… "

"C'mon, what is it, Mike?"

"I just-… well, I was thinkin' maybe you could-… maybe you would wanna move in with me?" he said, sounding unsure of himself, "I mean, we get along so well already, and I wouldn't mind a roommate. Some two-bedrooms opened up in my building at a pretty good rate, so I was already kinda thinking of tryin' to go in on one with someone. They're really nice. Already furnished and everything, and my landlady's great."

That went even better than Marco could have dreamed. He had to stop himself from agreeing right away, from sounding too eager, but he was sure the delight showed in his face. He cleared his throat and answered, "That, uh-… that sounds like a good idea to me, Mike."

"Really?"

 _Oh, Mike, don't look so hopeful, so excited, so encouraged… not when I feel the same._ Marco couldn't help but share the shy smile, telling him, "Really. I'd love to be your roommate."

He'd love to be more, but he couldn't say so aloud, no matter how agreeable he thought Mike would be to the situation. A man just couldn't be openly gay and a fireman. It never ended well. If the department didn't take professional issue with it, usually other firemen took it personally. Marco discovered early on that he found men and women equally attractive, though until now he'd never wanted to really act on his desires toward a man. Mike changed that. He changed everything. It was strange, to feel as though his whole world had turned on his head and yet for it to feel so right.

"Great," Mike replied softly, "Do you wanna come check 'em out tomorrow?"

"Nah, I trust you. You just let me know when I can move in. I can't wait to leave this damn building I'm in now."

"Why don't I phone my landlady now? I've had my eye on one I can ask her about, as long as you don't mind the sixth floor, that is."

"Sounds fine to me. The sooner the better."

Mike returned a few minutes later, grinning widely, saying, "Ol' Alice really likes me, that's for sure. She said we can move in whenever we're ready, and she even said she'd forgo our security deposit since I'm such a good tenant. She'll have a lease for us to sign in the next couple days."

"That's perfect. Man, I've had my stuff half-packed for a month."

"Well, how 'bout-? How 'bout you pack up all the way and we'll get you moved in, then I get all my stuff moved up once you're settled? We can get some of the guys to help, maybe."

"That sounds fine to me."

Marco couldn't keep the emotion off his face anymore. He knew he was wearing a big, silly grin, and he couldn't find it in himself to care.

xXxXx

 _That was pretty bold, much too bold, I think. I need to be more careful._ Mike's feelings for Marco had only grown deeper in the recent weeks since the dinner at his parents'. He'd initially thought it a silly crush that would pass in time, but that was seeming to be less and less the case. Mike ached to be with Marco, and there wasn't even anything necessarily sexual behind it. The ache was in his heart, his soul, drew him in, was eased by mere proximity. That's not to say there wasn't a sexual component (as Mike had woken more than once from dreams of Marco either hard as a rock or with cum in his shorts), but it wasn't all-consuming. He dreamt, too, of simple things, of being curled up together on the couch or in bed, cooking meals together… _maybe dancing, too. I think I'd like to dance with him._

Between both of them finishing packing and then getting everything transported where it belonged, they got moved in in about a week, thanks to help from Chet and Johnny.

"This was a very sudden move, y'know," Chet noted when all was said and done, beer in his hand, "Gotta say, I was a little surprised. So tell me, I gotta know… which one of ya is pregnant?"

Johnny snorted beer out of his nose, laughing and swearing at the same time. Marco spoke up, "I'm not sure it works like that, Chet."

"Oh, and you would know?"

"Well, I'm not stupid."

Chet and Johnny hung out with them until about four, leaving Mike and Marco to unpack themselves. Marco had insisted on Mike taking the larger room, so Mike did, though he secretly hoped Marco would eventually end up in there with him. Just living with him was enough for now, seeing him everyday, being around him almost constantly. For two weeks, things rolled along smoothly, as they always did.

He and Marco were just lounging in their apartment. They had planned on going to the beach, but the weather made other plans. Rain fell in buckets, lashing against the windows, wind howling. Power was out in patches across the county, and reports said their power would be out for maybe another twenty-four hours since it went out before they got home from the station. They'd both been soaked to the skin and stripped down to their shorts just inside the door. Mike felt goosebumps break out over his skin, and they were not simply from being chilly.

He shivered slightly at the memory of a nearly naked Marco and looked over at the other man. He lounged easily over the couch, wearing a pair of old sweatpants and a threadbare t-shirt, reading one of the myriad copies of _Fire Engineering_ Mike hung on to. _He's never looked better._ Mike was dressed much the same, perfect for laying around on a rainy day. They ate what they could out of the fridge, hoping the power would come back on before everything went bad. Unable to focus on his book, Mike looked around the room and let his eyes fall on the calendar.

"Hey, Marco, guess what day it is?"

"Umm… Wednesday?"

"Well, yeah, but something else, too," Mike said, and when Marco didn't reply except to raise his eyebrows, he continued, "It's been a year. Today it's been one whole year since our first shift at 51s."

Marco's face lit up, a warm smile settling there.

"Hey, that's right. I can't believe I almost forgot. Wow… it's hard to believe it's been a whole year since we've met."

 _Yes, that's the most important… us meeting was the most important._

"And what a year it's been."

Marco chuckled, then sobered a little, saying, "I meant it, Mike, when I said I was blessed to know you."

Mike found himself rising from the chair to sit by Marco on the couch. This apartment, their apartment, was a safe place. They could speak freely here, could be themselves without fear of judgment.

"And I meant it when I said I felt the same way. It's silly probably, but-… I-I feel like I've known you forever."

"I don't think it's silly. I, uh, I know what you mean," Marco replied softly.

Marco had sat up from his lounging position, arranging himself close to Mike, warm against his side. Mike's fingers twitched in his lap. He wanted so badly to touch Marco, to hold his hand, to put an arm around him, to rest his head on his shoulder. _But I can't. He's not like that._ There was no way Marco would ever want anything more than friendship from him. The warmth in his stomach turned cold and hard, settling itself in his gut. Mike swallowed against the lump in his throat and stated, "I'm hungry, I think. You want something for dinner? Wanna see what we can salvage from the fridge, Marco?"

"Umm, yeah… sure, I could eat."

He pretended that maybe he saw disappointment in Marco's face. It didn't really make it any easier on him. Still, he managed as the weeks went on. A little over a month passed.

The factory fire they were called to was a bad one from the start, with what was in the building, the number of employees working that day, and the poor structural status of the building. Mike could remember giving them citations not too long ago for a number of fire code violations. Marco had been there, too. He'd been upset when he discovered that most, if not all, of the employees in the shoddy textile factory were Mexican, and they told him how unsafe they felt. It was only a matter of time before the factory either closed or a disaster occurred. Unfortunately, it was the latter that came first.

"Alright, fellas, they need all hands inside for rescues," Cap informed them, "Everyone suit up in air masks, even you, Stoker. We're a rescue unit right now. Kelly, I want you with DeSoto, and I'll pair with Gage. It's better to have the paramedics split up for rescues. Lopez and Stoker, that means you'll be a pair. Let's get this done and stay safe."

A kind of thrill ran through Mike as he pulled on his air bottle and mask. Engineers didn't really get to be in the shit too much. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd actually gone in to face the beast since his promotion, and he was kind of excited. He and Marco went in, immediately facing thick, black smoke. They passed hose teams from other stations, saw the glow of the flames on the far side of the building, heard the roar. Mike pushed the sound away. The only sounds he needed to hear were the cries of victims and the voice of his partner. _By the looks of it, I'd say about three-quarters of the workers made it out, but that still leaves maybe fifty people unaccounted for._ That was a lot of people to rescue.

Moving debris got some fifteen people out from behind some machinery where they'd been trapped. More were rescued from a few offices, which left about seventeen trapped on the factory floor. Reports came in over the H/T that Cap and Johnny were taking victims out, as well as Chet and Roy, though they had found three dead. _That leaves… five. There are still five people trapped._ Mike tapped Marco on the shoulder and pointed toward the factory floor. Marco nodded and led the way. The smoke was beginning to thin, flowing out through vent holes in the roof. That was good. It was easier to see now.

They found a body, the head almost completely severed by a piece of metal, and Mike called it in so they could move on. Many things happened at once. The roof groaned loudly overhead. The captain from 127s came on the H/T ordering everyone out of the structure. Mike located a victim, a terrified and bleeding Latina woman he could easily free from some debris. There was a thunderous crash behind them as part of the roof came down. Marco turned, wide-eyed as Mike handed over the female victim and told him to go. He knew there was someone else there. 127s ordered the retreat again, but Mike kept digging.

The roof came down with a guttural, crashing shriek. Mike barely had time to throw himself over the victim, shielding him from the worst of the cave-in. Stabbing pain shot through the outside of his right thigh, causing him to cry out. His ears were ringing, and it was a moment before he registered that someone was calling him over the H/T. He fumbled for it, answering in a tight voice, "S-Stoker here. I'm- uh, I'm trapped un-under some debris."

" _Is there anyone with you?_ " Cap's voice asked.

"Yeah, I-I have one victim," Mike replied, groping for a pulse, "Shit… the victim- I can't find a pulse. He-He's dead."

" _Just stay where you are, pal_ ," Cap told him, " _I've got people comin' in for ya. Can you give me your location in there? Are there any landmarks?_ "

"I-I dunno, Cap… I'm facedown… an-and I'm injured. My righ-right leg hurts real bad."

His thigh throbbed violently, but he didn't dare try to look at it or touch it. His heartbeat was fast, born of fear and pain, fueled by adrenaline, and he felt nauseous. He couldn't be sure how much time passed before he heard voices that were actually there and not over the radio. (He had occupied himself by going over emergency protocol for his engine in his head.)

"Roy! Cap! Marco! I found Mike! He's over here! He's-! Holy shit…"

Johnny's words were not promising. He heard the others approach, heard their similar reactions.

"I-I don't suppose someone would t-tell me what's goin' on?" Mike asked, trying to sound unaffected but only sounding shaky.

No one answered, simply started to dig Mike out. _They're not really making me feel any better. Is it really that bad? Fuck, is my leg even still there?_ Scenario after horrifying scenario paraded through his mind, each worst than the last, sending his heart rate skyrocketing. Someone got down beside him, and Mike immediately recognized the warmth. Marco's eyes were wide and worried as he asked shakily, "Are you okay, Mike?"

"I-I-I guess so… Marco, what's go-goin' on? Please tell me what's wrong. Please. A-am I gonna-"

"No," he replied instantly, "No, Mike, you're not gonna die."

"Then tell me what's wrong."

"It-… It's not pretty. There's a piece of rebar piercing your leg. Looks like it impaled it, actually."

Mike's stomach rolled. _That's never happened before… but at least I'm not dying… Marco wouldn't lie to me. He would tell me the truth._ Roy called down the shallow hole, "Marco, you better stay with him there. We've gotta cut this rebar some to get him outta here. I'm gonna send Johnny in with the cutters. Just a minute…"

"Okay, Roy, but hurry up."

"Marco, I'm gonna need a hand," Johnny said upon arrival, "I need you to steady that rebar. I don't want it shiftin' inside his leg when I cut. Mike… Mike, I'm sorry, man, I really am, but this ain't gonna feel good."

 _Should I have something to bite down on?_ The thought came too late. As soon as Marco touched the rebar, Mike screamed, an almost inhuman sound ripping from his throat. He clenched his jaw, sure he was about to break all his teeth. Thinking quickly, he pulled off one of his gloves and turned it inside out, shoving into his mouth and biting down, hoping it would stifle any noise he made. He knew as soon as Johnny started cutting the pain would be worse, so much worse, and he was right. He may have blacked out, he couldn't be sure, but when Johnny finished cutting, Mike was left sweating and shaking, his breathing ragged, his stomach rolling. He threw up when they moved him, and that time, he definitely blacked out.

Mike came to in Rampart, blinking in the bright, sterile light. His brain felt fuzzy, probably from painkillers or anesthesia.

"How ya feelin', tiger?"

His gaze focused on the blonde nurse.

"Hiya, Miss McCall. I guess 'm alright. 'Lil foggy…"

"Well, that's to be expected. You had a hard day, Mike. You remember what happened?"

"Ye-yeah. We were at th' textile factory on a run," Mike replied slowly, his words slurring from the fogginess, "Place was crazy, kep' gettin' fire code vi'lations an' hired these poor kids righ' outta Mexico. Umm… me an' Marco were workin' rescue i'side. Cap'n Mason from 127s called ev'ryone out, but… but I didn' go. I found a victim righ' then, so I tried to get 'im out, bu-but he was dead already. 'pparently I ended up with some rebar through m'leg when the roof caved in."

"Yes, and you're lucky you're up to date on your tetanus shot. That rebar was filthy. You feeling alright now? Any pain?"

He shook his head, and Dixie smiled, "Good. Think you're up to having some visitors?"

Mike agreed, readying himself for the onslaught that was his team. The whole 51s crew hung around for maybe an hour, needing to wait for Mike's replacement anyway, filtering out until only Marco was left. _He's upset. I know it. I can tell._ Marco stood awkwardly by the bed, as if he were unsure whether to stay or leave. Mike shifted carefully against his pillows, telling Marco, "C'mon, man, sit. You're makin' me nervous."

He didn't move.

"Marco, please… 'm okay. You heard ev'ryone say so. C'mon, sit wi' me… please."

It seemed like not long ago their positions had been reversed, that Marco had been laying in a hospital bed with Mike feeling guilty and shy.

"Why did you do that, Mike?"

"Do what?"

"You disobeyed the order to leave the structure," Marco said, "You gave me the victim you had, and then you stayed when Capt. Mason ordered us out. You heard the roof was ready to go, you had to, but you stayed. Why?"

"There was 'nother victim. I could see 'im trapped there but couldn' reach 'im," Mike explained, "I couldn' jus' leave 'im there if he needed help… 'course turns out I was too late…"

"That wasn't your fault, Mike. It wasn't your fault. That guy was dead when you got to him. Between the smoke and the heat and his injuries, he didn't stand a chance."

"How many died total?"

"I think the last count was… uh, fourteen? Chet and Roy had brought out a couple critical cases that bit it later… so did some guys from 10s… plus the bodies they found during clean-up. There's a few people here in Rampart that are critical they're worried about, too," Marco answered matter-of-factly.

Facts. It was easier to think of things like this in terms of facts or a guy could go nuts. Marco's tone darkened, "I hope the _pendejo_ who ran that place gets locked up for murder. I talked to some of the victims, and from what they said, that place could've been the next Triangle Fire. I didn't think places could operate like that anymore, but I guess when you only hire scared, poor, Mexican kids who don't hardly speak English, how are they supposed to complain?"

"They'll get justice, Marco. I know it. This'll be a big, national story. People'll take notice."

Mike reached out, trying to touch Marco, to comfort him. Marco took his hand. Mike could see he was shaking finely and squeezed his hand a little tighter.

"I was scared, Mike… really scared."

"So was I."

Marco opened his mouth to speak, but Dixie came in and shooed him out to check on Mike and give him some more painkillers. Mike went home two days later, glad to know Marco would be there for him for a few days. Marco helped him into their apartment and settled him on the couch, where Mike promptly fell asleep.

xXxXx

"This was a close one, Mike," Marco said to his friend when he woke up and got something to eat.

"You don't hafta tell me…"

"I was terrified," he admitted, "I got that girl out and turned around and I saw the roof come down and you weren't behind me so I knew you were still in there an-and-… I was just so scared, Mike. I-… I was afraid I-I'd lost you. For good. Then I heard you over the radio… then we went in, and I saw that rebar sticking through your leg… I wish I didn't have to hurt you like that, but it was the only way to help."

"I know that. I know you had to."

"Yeah, I had to, but I didn't want to. The way you screamed when I-" Marco shuddered at the memory, "I've never been so scared, Mike. Never in all my life."

He pulled in a deep breath. This was a leap of faith he was about to take, a leap into a big, dark hole where he didn't know what was at the bottom, where he could find beauty or death. He sat close to Mike on the couch and spoke again, his voice low, heat in his face.

"I don't wanna lose you, Mike. You're the best friend I've ever had. I've never been closer to anyone in my life than I am with you, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I can say, without a doubt, that I care more about you than I do anyone else, even more than some people I'm related to. I saw that metal sticking outta your leg and you were bleeding and-… and I thought that was it. I thought you were dead."

"You told me I wasn't gonna die," Mike said.

"I know. I needed to believe it. I needed to make myself believe it because the alternative was just too horrible to think about," he murmured, carefully taking one of Mike's hands in his own, "Especially-… especially when-…"

 _Take a deep breath. It's time for the plunge. Like diving in a cenote, I'll find inexpressible beauty or I'll drown alone in the dark… maybe both at once._ His thumb stroked over the back of Mike's hand, over the bruise left by the IV. His heartbeat quickened, a flush blossoming over his chest and up his neck into his face. Mike's eyes were wide and bright and so very blue, like when the sunlight hit the clear cenote water. There was a bit of color in his cheeks, his lips slightly parted. _Mi angel… mi hermoso angel… I pray you'll be there for me when I jump._

Marco leaned in and brushed his lips over Mike's, a touch they could barely feel. He pulled back. Mike's expression hadn't changed. _That's it. I fucked it all up, fucked it up six ways from Sunday._ Marco muttered, "I-I just-… I feel like we've been dancing around each other the whole time we've known each other… lots of shy smiles, little touches, things like that. Maybe… maybe I thought-… thought there was more there than there was, than there is, but… but I had to go for it. I didn't wanna waste anymore time, Mike… didn't wanna waste my time with you."

He could feel his pulse beating through his veins. When Mike didn't speak, Marco continued, rising to his feet, "I'll leave as soon as I can. I'll move back home an-and I'll put in a transfer and you-you'll never hafta-"

"No."

Mike squeezed Marco's hand tightly, keeping him from walking away. His blue eyes were still wide but now a little fearful. He whispered, "Please, Marco… I don't want you to go. I-I-… come sit again, would ya? I'm not up to standin' right now."

Marco slowly obeyed, guided by Mike's hand to sit as close as before. Their fingers were twined. A strange pressure settled in his chest, strange but not bad. It was one that made it clear everything in the world was right, that time had been wasted when it shouldn't have been. Mike spoke again, his voice low and quiet, "You're right. You're a hundred percent right. Marco, we have absolutely been dancin' around, pretending we don't feel like we do. I know I was doin' it 'cause I was scared: scared of feelin' that way, scared 'cause it was you, scared you wouldn't feel the same way even though part of me knew you did… scared now 'cause I know you feel the same. Please, I don't want you to leave, Marco. I don't ever want you to leave."

The blue eyes were shining with tears now. Marco inched closer, mindful of the fresh wound in Mike's leg, casting his gaze down to the injured thigh. Mike was due to start rehab and PT next week, would return to work in a month or so like nothing ever happened. _I almost lost him, though._ Mike inched closer and rested his forehead on Marco's, sighing quietly. Marco's eyes slipped shut. A rough palm came up to cup his face, thumb stroking his cheek. He felt his heart rate slow down, no longer racing, like he knew this was where he was supposed to be.

xXxXx

Mike felt his racing heart calm as he pressed his forehead to Marco's, as he cupped the warm, brown cheek. He was stunned when Marco leaned in and brushed his lips over his. Something in him had always known Marco felt the same, but he hadn't dared to hope, preferred their awkward dance to maybe finding out he was wrong and ruining what they had.

"I won't leave, Mike," Marco whispered, "I promise."

"You can't promise that, and I can't make you promise that. In our job, we don't know if that's the case. We could die at any minute of any day," he murmured.

"Then I promise to never leave if I can help it. That much I can promise you."

He looked into Marco's eyes, those deep brown irises with the faint golden hue, the long, dark lashes framing them.

"You really promise, Marco?"

"Yeah, I really promise."

"Would-? Would you seal it with a-a kiss?"

Marco let out a huff of a laugh, smiling quietly. He mirrored Mike's position, cupping Mike's cheek, and tipped his chin. Their lips met softly. Mike did not feel fireworks or sparks or electricity. He felt peace. He felt right. He felt like he'd been missing this his whole life. Marco's lips were chapped and warm, slowly moving against his. Happy butterflies filled Mike's stomach as he kissed back, their lips sliding together, noses bumping. His hand slipped around to the back of Marco's neck, and he let his fingers toy with the dark hair, rub gently at his scalp. Marco's thumb stroked along his cheekbone, his other hand coming up to hold Mike's face.

He was gentle, so incredibly gentle, mindful of Mike's injury, of this being their first kiss. The thought made Mike smile, and he felt Marco return the expression. Marco caught his lip and sucked on it, pulling a soft moan from Mike, who placed his free hand just above Marco's knee for balance. One day soon, he would touch Marco's bare skin, would touch him all over, would taste every inch of him, but for now… for now he was content to simply kiss him, to feel his lips on his own.

They pulled apart after a few short moments that felt like an hour, foreheads touching once more, both slightly breathless, both smiling.

"I call that promise sealed," Mike whispered, "Not bad for our first kiss."

Marco hummed in agreement and replied, "Let's see what we can do with the second…"


	7. Oh, Those Summer Nights

_**Warnings: some strong language, sexual content, brief mentions of homophobia**_

* * *

Roy rolled his eyes at the whispers from Johnny and Chet that stopped as soon as he entered the dorm where they were cleaning. He assumed the topic of conversation (or gossip, more accurately) was Mike and Marco, as it had been since Mike's injury six weeks ago. Johnny had Roy for a forced listening ear while they were in the squad, someone to bounce cockamamie theories off of, but he and Chet together became the worst gossips in history. _They're worse than women. I've never seen two people get so worked up over something so ridiculous._ Come to think of it, Roy had been rolling his eyes a lot lately.

Unfortunately, they both cornered him in the parking lot following a shift, crowding him at his car.

"Come on, Roy, you musta noticed it, too," Chet said, "I mean, they've always had that weird thing where they don't actually speak to communicate, but it's super weird now, ever since they moved in together."

"And that was pretty weird, too," Johnny piped up, "I mean, it made sense to save money, but- well- just there's-there's gotta be… more."

"You hafta see it, too."

Roy thought carefully before he spoke. Certainly he'd noticed. He was neither blind nor stupid, after all. If anything, he'd noticed from the very beginning, saw the smiles and the closeness and the intimacy between them, but he'd tried to pass it off to himself as a close friendship. He'd seen such friendships before. In a field such as theirs, such camaraderie was not uncommon. Firemen saw a lot of heavy things, and for the most part, civilians just didn't understand. They could listen and feel sad and provide comfort, but that wasn't the same as knowing. Having close friends to confide in made things much easier.

He did get the strange feeling (and had for a while) that Mike and Marco were simply more than close friends. The realization hit him when Mike went down six weeks ago. Marco panicked, and that was unusual. Marco was a veteran of the fire department, had worked at multiple stations with multiple apparatus, had seen plenty of horrible things. He did not panic. _He was damn near crying, he was so worked up._ Marco looked like he'd been put through the ringer, and that was when Roy knew for sure. He knew for a fact there was something more than friendship there between his two shiftmates, knew how well they fit together, could practically see the evidence laid out before him like a map. He was a little surprised to note he felt nothing but happiness for them.

"Look, why don't you guys give it a rest?" Roy told them, "All your guys' gossiping does is get you all worked up. You got overactive imaginations, you always do, and they're always gettin' you into trouble, not to mention that neither of you can keep your mouths shut about anything."

"Roy, I mighta been born at night, but it sure as hell wasn't last night," Chet responded, "I've seen some shit, and I've definitely seen two people in love, and I'm tellin' ya, they're in love!"

This had been Chet's pet theory from the start. Johnny mentioned it disparagingly in the squad more than once ("But they hardly talk! Wouldn't they talk to each other if they were in love?") but it seemed he was swayed to Chet's side now. Two pairs of curious and expectant eyes looked at Roy, waiting for a reply. He rolled his eyes and sighed.

"I told you. Give it a rest," Roy said, turning over the engine in his car.

That meant the conversation was over, and Roy was leaving. He backed out and pulled out of the parking lot, leaving Johnny and Chet to argue once more.

xXxXx

"Do you really think they're in love, Chet?" Johnny asked in a low voice at the diner, "I mean, they hardly talk to each other, let alone anybody else. They just sit there an-and know things together. Don't people in love talk to each other?"

Johnny's expression was bordering on comically confused, but for once Chet was too occupied to make a joke about it. People tended to think Chet was stupid, and he had yet to figure out why. Maybe it was the round face, the mass of curly hair, the big blue eyes, the pranks, the way his mouth sometimes worked faster than his brain, how he couldn't sit still for too long… but Chet was far from stupid. He could read the material for the engineer's exam and understand it front to back and back to front. Put him in any piece of heavy equipment, and he could figure out how to operate it in no time flat. Even if his mouth didn't always say what he intended, he usually knew the right thing to say to calm down a victim on scene. No, Chet Kelly was not stupid.

He knew people, too, had to know people in order to set up the perfect prank, to know when to back off, when to lay off entirely. Chet knew people, and he knew Mike Stoker and Marco Lopez were in love. _I've known it from almost day one, even if no one else has._ It was clear that Mike and Marco got along better than anyone else (except maybe Johnny and Roy), clear they would be close from the start. Chet knew he was fairly difficult to get along with, Johnny too, so it made sense for Mike to not want to spend too much time talking to them, but Mike just showed a clear preference for Marco's company right from the start… and it was the same with Marco toward Mike.

"I dunno, Johnny," Chet replied quietly, "I mean, I guess if two people are meant for each other, maybe-… maybe they just already kinda know stuff. Maybe they don't hafta talk to each other."

"You really think-? You really think they're meant for each other? Think they're soulmates?"

Chet's voice was serious, "Yeah. Yeah, I really do think that, Johnny."

 _Hell, I dunno know how everyone else has been so blind._ Chet supposed maybe the others were a little… off-put thinking their fellow firemen might be involved in an intimate relationship with each other, but he had no qualms. Over in Vietnam, things sometimes happened between guys. War was terrifying and frightening and lonely, and sometimes a guy needed comfort from someone who understood. Guys got lonely and scared and drunk and horny, and things just happened. Fact of life. Firefighting was a lot like war sometimes. There was really no way of knowing if the next shift would be the last, whether due to crippling injury or death. Firemen understood each other better than anyone else, so really, it only made sense for two of them to end up together. Chet was a pretty liberal guy as far as that was concerned. He couldn't care less who fell in love with who or had sex with who as long as they were happy and no one was being hurt. _Is it so unnatural to want to love and be loved in return?_ He couldn't understand the hate.

"And-? And are you okay with it, Chet? With them bein'- y'know?" Johnny asked.

"Why shouldn't I be?" Chet shrugged, "They're firemen, too, same as us, no matter what. They're still my friends, my brothers. So what if they're gay and in love with each other? They're not hurtin' anyone. As long as they do their job, what they do in the bedroom is none of my business. See, Johnny, I knew a guy over in 'Nam, maybe the best soldier there. This cat was precise, knew his shit, was a sharpshooter, everything. He saved plenty of lives, and everyone liked him. Then-… then one day he got a letter sayin' he was shippin' home 'cause he'd been given a general discharge, just 'cause he was gay.

"I remember, I was with him when he opened the letter, and I think I mighta been even madder than him. I mean, here's a guy with experience, who wanted to be there, who was good at his job, an-and they just fuckin' kicked him out like-… like he was a traitor or something. They were out there draftin' guys who were stupid and green and useless when there were guys like Danny, who were smart and had experience and were the best at their jobs but weren't wanted just because they fell in love with other guys, and I thought-… I've just always thought that was really unfair."

Johnny's brown eyes were soft, his brows knit in contemplation. Chet belatedly thought he should make a crack about Johnny thinking too hard, but the timing wasn't right. He didn't know Johnny's opinions on homosexuals, only knew the paramedic grew up on a ranch in Oklahoma, a rural, Conservative area with Conservative views, but maybe living in LA had changed some of his opinions. _That's not to say I'm some kind of angel when it comes to shitty opinions, but I'm tryin' to get better. Mouth just works faster than my brain sometimes._

"Well… I guess… I guess I never thought of it like that before," Johnny spoke up after a moment, "I just always thought of stuff like that in terms of myself… of me feelin' uncomfortable, like they were lookin' at me for- well, you know. What you were sayin'… well, that makes sense. People used to think black people and brown people and red people weren't allowed to do this kinda work, weren't fit to be around white people. Maybe… maybe that's how wrong we are about gay people, thinkin' they're unfit to be around straight people."

Chet simply hummed in agreement. _I couldn't be happier for Mike and Marco, 'cause they seem really in love. True love doesn't happen every day, after all._

xXxXx

Something warm and fluffy nuzzled against Mike's face, making him snuffle and roll over, still half-asleep. The fluffy thing chirped and nuzzled at him again, more insistently this time, and Mike finally opened his eyes. Sunlight seeped in through the blinds, capturing the little motes of dust floating in the air. A pair of vivid yellow eyes stared at him from a round, black face. The big cat chirped again, pawing at Mike's arm.

"Aw, c'mon, Tito…" he mumbled, "Go 'way… I know Marco fed ya already…"

Tito instead laid down right beside him, purring contentedly, the sound bringing a smile to Mike's face. A loud, high-pitched meow sounded from elsewhere in the apartment. _God, Rosa's so mouthy… they're both pretty mouthy, actually, I'm lucky Tito's quiet right now._ Mike had quickly grown accustomed to living with the two large cats. Marco doted on them constantly, lavished them with attention, and the cats clearly loved him in return.

"I rescued them from a fire about six months before I came to 51s," Marco had explained, "I was at 127s. They were the only ones that made it, or at least the only ones I found. They lived with Cari and Maristela for a few months until they could be on their own while I was on shift, but I've always been their favorite. I think they like you almost as much, though. You're nice and quiet and gentle with them."

Mike scratched between the two pointed ears, and Tito's purring increased in volume. The smells of cooking breakfast wafted in through the open door of his bedroom. He and Marco hadn't quite progressed beyond some heavy kissing and light petting, some cuddling on the couch, and Mike could honestly say he was content. He was more than happy to be close to Marco, however, it was also true that he desired more. He still dreamed of those brown hands roaming over his body, touching and caressing and stroking every part of him. More than once, Mike woke covered in sweat with a hand down his pants, the front of his shorts damp and sticky. He hoped Marco didn't hear if he'd cried out during any such dreams… though part of him hoped Marco did.

Breakfast became too enticing after a minute or so, and Mike finally sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He pulled on a t-shirt, chuckling at the series of chirps from Tito. Mike told him, "Okay, okay, just hold your horses, man," before carefully picking him up and letting him climb up onto his shoulder. Marco laughed at seeing the black cat riding on Mike's shoulder, purring loudly.

"Smells good," Mike commented, "What's cookin', Marco?"

"Let's see, I've got eggs, bacon, sausage, potatoes with onions and peppers… and a little chili, just for good measure," Marco replied, smirking, "I thought it would wake you up."

"Well, someone else helped you out there. I had a furry alarm clock today."

"That's every day for me. Rosa comes in first, demanding breakfast and Tito follows. They're a little easier to wake up to than your average alarm clock, though."

Mike looked down as Rose rubbed against his leg, the fluffy orange cat purring as loudly as her brother. (Marco told him he suspected both cats were at least part Maine Coon, a breed of cat known for being particularly sizeable and fluffy.) Mike had always really been a dog person himself. He had one when he was a kid, and they had Boot living at the station. Now, living with Marco and his two cats, he could see the attraction to having cats. Tito leapt down off Mike's shoulder, hitting the floor with a loud thump and swatting playfully at Rosa, who started chasing him. The two firemen laughed. _Little terrors, that's what they are… but they're pretty darn cute._ Mike stepped close behind Marco, chest pressed to his back, chin resting on his shoulder. Marco leaned back into the touch, still working on the bacon and sausage.

"Wanna get out and go somewhere today?" Mike asked.

"Sure. Any ideas?"

"I was thinkin' maybe we could hit the beach."

"Yeah, I'd like to hit the beach."

 _Oh, this was about the best idea I've ever had._ Mike was sure he could sit there all day and just watch Marco, immensely thankful for the mirrored sunglasses ensuring he could look all he wanted with no one knowing. He could look at the fine musculature, clearly there but not too well defined. He could look at the beautiful brown skin that took on a bronze hue in the sunlight. He could look at the black hair slicked back with saltwater and the wet skin speckled with sand and the well muscled chest bare to the sun and that perfect ass in those swim trunks. He licked his lips.

"Hey, Mike! Why don't you come swimmin'? Feels great!"

Mike smiled. _Lookin' at you feels pretty damn good, too._ He took off his sunglasses and jogged toward the surf.

xXxXx

 _Coming here was a great idea._ Sure, Marco had seen Mike practically naked plenty of times. It was unavoidable, really, working in close quarters, now living together. There were times at the station when, after a hard run, the shift would slump in and just strip off their filthy uniforms there in the locker room, too tired to care. It was different now. Marco looked before out of simple, ordinary curiosity. Everyone did, naturally curious as to what other people looked like. Now, though, he looked at Mike with decided interest.

He watched the long, lean body jogging toward him, watched the muscular limbs and torso, watched the brown hair shift in the seabreeze. _God, he's so beautiful._ He was looking a little sunburnt, his face and shoulders and chest slightly pink. A look of near bliss came over Mike's face when he splashed into the water, clearly enjoying the feel of the cool water on his hot skin. Heat flooded into Marco's groin as he wondered what else Mike might enjoy feeling on his skin.

They spent almost the whole day there on the beach, leaving at about dinnertime for a nearby diner before heading home.

"Ouch… oh, I never learn, Marco…"

He didn't have the worst sunburn Marco had ever seen, but it was up there, a bright, angry red the same color as the engine. The color spread over his face, shoulders, back of his neck, his back and his chest, fading in intensity as it went down his torso.

"Well, just take a nice, cool shower to take some of the heat off, and then I think I saw some aloe lotion we could put on there to make it feel a little better, too," Marco told him.

Thirty minutes later, they were in the living room, seated on the couch in just their shorts, with Mike's back to Marco. Mike hissed at the first touch of the cool lotion on his burnt skin, his body tensing slightly, but he quickly relaxed into Marco's ministrations. Marco gently massaged the aloe into the muscular back and shoulders. A quiet moan slipped from Mike's lips, and Marco could feel it vibrate through his back. His cock began to show some interest.

"Here, turn around… lemme get your chest, too… C'mere…"

Mike groaned low in his throat, the sound going right to Marco's groin. He gently caressed the sunburnt chest, starting up near the collarbones.

"Remember when I was trapped in that warehouse?" Marco asked softly.

Mike hummed an affirmative, so Marco continued, "When I woke up in the hospital room, I was so out of it… I thought I was dead. I thought I was dead… and I thought you were an angel… an angel come to take me to Heaven. _Mi hermoso ángel_ … my beautiful angel… that's what I call you sometimes, in my head… _mi ángel…_

His hands slipped lower down Mike's chest, rubbing gently along the sternum, carefully avoiding his nipples for the moment. Another low groan rumbled through his chest, barely audible but clearly felt in Marco's fingertips. The rumbling went straight to Marco's already hard cock. He ghosted his fingers down over the soft flesh of Mike's belly, leaning in to capture his lips. Big hands came to rest on his flanks, rough fingers caressing along his ribs. Marco's blood was running hot, perhaps from being out in the sun or the sea air or having spent all day with a half-naked Mike.

He licked hungrily into Mike's mouth, wanting desperately to have everything Mike would give him. His mouth was warm and wet and perfect. Their tongues slid together hotly, licking, exploring. They took turns nipping at each other's lips, soothing little bites with gentle tongues. Marco trailed his lips away from Mike's, kissing along his jaw and down the column of his throat, pulling quiet whimpers from Mike. He imagined the other man's face, could see the blue eyes heavy-lidded and dark with arousal, and the image made his cock twitch with interest. Mike gasped when he sucked at his pulse point.

Marco's lips worked their way to Mike's chest, soaking up the heat that rolled off his skin. He was careful not to use his teeth on the sunburnt flesh, careful not to hurt his lover, careful to make him feel good.

"Want you to feel so good, _mi ángel_ ," Marco murmured against his chest, flicking his tongue against a pink nipple.

Mike sucked in a sharp gasp, telling him breathlessly, "Well, it's working. I feel- oh!"

Marco covered the nipple with his mouth, sucking gently, grazing the sensitive nub with his teeth, laving it with his tongue. Mike's hips jerked forward, and one of his hands left Marco's ribs to reach for his hard on. Marco intercepted the big hand, twining their fingers, and the action pulled a whimper from Mike.

"We'll get there, _querido_ , but not just yet," he whispered, kissing his way to the other nipple.

"Make it quick," Mike breathed, "Want- _fuck_ \- want you to touch me, babe…"

"Oh, I will… just wanna make you feel so good first… wanna take it nice and slow."

"It's not nice to torture me like this, y'know."

"Really? I thought I was being very nice…"

He carefully pushed Mike back onto the couch, covering his body with his own, skillfully keeping their groins apart. Strong hands grabbed his ass and squeezed hard, trying to pull him down. Marco wanted to lower his hips, wanted to rut against Mike like they were horny teenagers, but he held back. _No, I'm gonna make him wait for the best part. He deserves to feel good._ He returned his lips to Mike's left nipple, licking and nipping and sucking, making Mike all but writhe and moan beneath him. He worked his way down the taut abdomen, dipping his tongue into the belly button, kissing to the hem of Mike's boxers, lavishing each hipbone with attention. Fingers gripped Marco's hair, pulling slightly.

Mike's cock strained against the front of his shorts, a damp spot visible where the head was. Marco skipped over it for the time being, bringing his lips to the inside of Mike's knee, kissing up his thigh.

"What do you want, _querido_?" he asked huskily, sitting back on his knees.

"Want you… want you so bad…"

"What do you want me to do? Mike, tell me what you want from me."

"Wan-want you to touch me," he panted, his sunburn aggravated by a flush creeping up his chest, blue eyes lidded and dark, "Please, babe, I want you to fuckin' touch me… want your hand on my cock… want your mouth, too, babe… fuck… want all of you…"

That was it. Marco surged forward, capturing Mike's lips once more, pressing their groins together. Mike gasped against Marco's mouth, rolling his hips. Electricity shot up Marco's spine. His hand dove between their bodies to palm the hard cock through Mike's shorts. His hips rolled again, and a low whine escaped his lips, his head falling back to allow Marco access to his throat. After a few moments he pulled away, sitting back once more. He pulled Mike's shorts down, freeing his erection. It was a nice cock, on the bigger end but not enormous, flushed and thick, the base nestled in a thatch of dark brown hair.

Marco leaned down, experimentally licking a stripe up the underside. Mike cried out, his hips jerking up, and Marco repeated the action a few more times before putting his lips around the head, tasting precome. It was salty and musky but not unpleasant. Mike was shaking, his chest heaving, the muscles of his belly shivering. Marco leaned back, wrapping his hand around the thick cock, feeling its weight and heat and smoothness.

"You're so beautiful, Mike," Marco whispered, stroking slowly and deliberately, " _Muy, muy hermoso_ … love seein' you like this… so hot and hard and fuckin' beautiful… and just for me… _solo para mi_ …"

"Y-yes… only for you, babe," he panted, hands gripping harshly at the couch.

"C'mon, _querido_ , wanna see your face when you cum… wanna see you cum for me, babe…"

It didn't take long. Mike's eyes squeezed shut, and his back arched up off the couch. His mouth dropped open, releasing a series of whining, erotic moans, his cock pulsing in Marco's hand. Cum splattered his chest in thick, white spurts, contrasting sharply with his red sunburn. He rolled his hips jerkily. _Beautiful… so fuckin' beautiful…_ He stroked Mike gently, helping him ride out his orgasm. Mike grinned lazily up at him.

"Looks to me like it's your turn, babe…"

Mike pushed himself into a sitting position, kissing Marco tenderly, slipping a hand down the front of his shorts. Marco moaned low in his throat as Mike stroked him. He lay back, pulling Mike with him. Mike used lips and teeth and tongue to trail a path of fire down Marco's body. His hips rolled up into Mike's grip, and he moaned as the man sucked at each nipple, taking his sweet time with each one, as he slowly dragged his tongue over his chest and abdomen.

"My turn… my turn to make you feel so good," Mike murmured, punctuating his words with kisses to the line of skin right above Marco's groin, "So good… as good as I felt just now…"

"Ye-yeah, _mi ángel_ ," Marco panted, "You make me feel s-so good… so fuckin' good…"

Marco gasped at the first touch of Mike's lips to his aching cock. He kissed it from base to head, using his teeth sparingly but perfectly, leaving Marco gasping and moaning. Pleasure rolled out from low in his belly, radiating up his spine and out to his limbs and into his cock.

"I'm- fuck! Mike-!"

"I know. I can see you're close… go on, cum for me, babe… cum for me…"

His orgasm built to its head, built until he could hardly take it anymore. It rocked through his core. Heat pulsed through his cock, hot cum splashing over his abdomen, his hips rolling through the pleasure. He groaned low and loud, light sparking up his spine and bursting behind his lids. He let out a whimper as Mike gave his oversensitive flesh a long, slow stroke. There was still drying cum on Mike's stomach. Marco was very nearly hard again when Mike leaned down and licked a stripe up Marco's stomach, lapping up some of the cum, before meeting Marco's mouth once more. He moaned at the taste of himself in the other man's mouth.

Marco brought his hands up to Mike's face, gently brushing some brown strands out of his face, joyous at seeing warmth and adoration in the blue eyes.

" _Mi querido_ ," he murmured, " _Mi hermoso ángel… eres tan hermoso y perfecto… y eres todas minas…_ "

"Did I fry your brain, Marco?" Mike chuckled, "Rewire it to Spanish only?"

"Not quite… but close. I just think everything sounds sexier _en español_."

"I think you might be right, babe."

"Hmm… maybe I'll have to teach you some, then."

"Yeah, maybe you will."

Mike turned his head, pressing his lips to Marco's palm, and leaned in to capture Marco's lips in a soft, languid kiss.

"Y'know," Mike whispered after a moment, "I think we showered for nothin' earlier."

"Guess we'll just hafta shower again… better conserve water and go together this time."

Mike smiled and laughed, kissing him again.

"You always have such good ideas, Marco."


	8. I'll Be There

_**Warnings: mild language, character death (OC).**_

* * *

"There you are, Marco!" Caridad greeted him and Mike, "We were beginning to think you weren't coming!"

"Wouldn't miss dinner here for anything, _mi hermana_ ," Marco replied, "We were caught in traffic on the way here. Some overturned truck or something. Thankfully nothing burned, or we might never have got here."

"Is that why you're so late?" Maristela asked, smirking, "You stop to help out?"

"Nah, they had plenty of guys there on scene. They didn't need us off-duty guys gettin' in the way. Now where's Mama _y_ Abuela Jesusa? I'm sure they're more upset at our bein' late than anyone…"

Mama was in the kitchen, while Abuela sat in the living room with Rogelio's twins, a set of seven-year-olds named Roberto and Raquel. Marco's older nieces came running out from a back room, shouting, "Tio Marco! Tio Marco's here!" and giggling. _Ay, Luisa and Soledad get bigger all the time!_ Marco hugged the girls, looking them over. Luisa was twelve and tall for her age, her dark hair up in a long ponytail, whereas Soledad was small and nine, her grin full of missing teeth. They quickly tired of Marco, though, and turned their attentions on Mike.

"They think he's cute," Caridad whispered.

"Do they now?"

She opened her mouth to say more, but Mama came out of the kitchen, saying, "Ay, there's _mi_ Marquiño! Why are you so late, _mi niño_? Migue, did you not keep him on time?"

Mike smiled apologetically, telling her, "It wasn't our fault. A truck rolled on the highway and got stuck."

"Well, you're both here now, so let's hurry and get ready for dinner. Marco, Rogelio, _ayude a su abuela. Ayúdele a la mesa, por favor, mis hijos maravillosos._ Migue, no, you sit. _Usted no necesita hacer nada, siéntese_ …"

Marco followed his older brother into the living room, carefully shooing out the twins. Abuela Jesusa had not been doing well of late, not since her last birthday party about ten months ago. _Honestly, I'm not sure she'll see the next one._ Abuela had always looked old, but now she looked elderly, looked frail and breakable. Marco swallowed against the lump that rose unexpectedly in his throat.

Dinner was a more subdued affair than usual, without the whole family present. Caridad and Maristela were there, and Rogelio and Inez, along with their children Luisa, Soledad, Roberto, and Raquel, plus Marco and Mike. That was it. Still, it was quieter even than affair of this number should have been, and Marco could guess why. Everyone must have felt what he did. He brought it up to Caridad after dinner.

"Yeah, we noticed, too," she replied quietly, "Stela and I were thinking of moving in with Mama just to help. She can't be having an easy time of it right now. Stela's a nurse. She knows… she can sense it."

"Did something happen that no one told me about? Like and injury or an illness?"

"No. She's just… gone downhill for the last month. She had a dream about Abuelo Mateo, and then it started from there. Mama said it's _un signo de Dios_ , a sign from God. She prays Abuela goes quietly and without pain."

"What does Stela say? Does she have any ideas?"

"Abuela's old. Stela says it just happens sometimes, just like this, a quick downhill spiral. Mama said she thinks it'll be soon."

Marco sighed and scrubbed at his face, muttering, "Damn… dammit, dammit, dammit…"

"Here, Marquiño, let's talk about happy things for a while," Caridad spoke up, "We can hold off on being sad until we need to be. Tell me something happy, Marco. Why don't you tell me about you and Mike?"

"What about me and Mike?"

"You can't lie to me, _hermanito_ , I see things clearly."

He dropped his gaze, a flush creeping into his face. Caridad spoke again, "Seeing the two of you together makes me so happy, Marco, because I can see how happy you are together. I can see that he loves you, and that you love him in return. Don't be afraid to love him, to be who you are."

"It's not as easy for us as it is for you. I-I dunno, Caricita, I feel like maybe people are more accepting of lesbians than gay men, especially in our job. Some guys in the department really hate queers. It's bad. I've seen guys get outed and get gone in all of a couple weeks, if that. These were guys that were vets of the department, that had been there for years, that were well-respected, and just like that, everything they had was gone. We can't risk that."

It was Caridad's turn to sigh, and she asked, "But you do love him?"

"Yeah… yeah, I do."

"And are you happy?"

"I'm not sure I've ever been happier."

"Then it'll all work out in the end. It has to. You two are meant for each other, _el sol y la luna_."

"Oh, don't say that… you know that the sun and moon can never be together," Marco told her.

" _La luna y las estrellas_ , then. They're always in the sky together. Always."

Marco wrapped his arms around his sister, thanking her softly. He and Mike excused themselves not long after, needing to be at work in the morning. Caridad and Maristela promised to keep him informed of anything that happened.

"Is everything alright, Marco?" Mike asked out in the car, "You seem a little down."

"It's nothing, Mike, really, I just-"

"Don't lie to me. Something's bothering you. I know it."

"I don't want you worrying."

"Too late. I'm already worried, so you might as well tell me."

"When we get home… can it wait 'til we get home, _querido_?" Marco asked.

Mike agreed silently, though Marco didn't enjoy the quiet ride home. The quiet wasn't a comfortable one like usual. It felt forced. He didn't like it one bit. In the safety of their apartment, Mike gave him a gentle kiss and wrapped his arms around him, whispering, "Babe, tell me what's the matter… please…"

" _Es mi_ Abuela Jesusa," Marco murmured after a moment, "You saw her tonight, Mike… she doesn't look well. She-… Maristela says she won't last much longer… and Mama said there was a sign from God, a dream Abuela had about Abuelo Mateo, her late husband. I could tell by looking it won't be long. Everyone could tell. You saw how subdued everyone was. It's-"

His voice caught in his throat, and he had to choke back an unexpected sob. Mike tightened his embrace, shushing him gently, saying, "It's gonna be alright, Marco. You'll be alright. So will your family."

"I know, but… It's just hard to think about, to know… it's heavy, I mean."

"Yeah, I know…"

"I don't wanna be sad, though, Mike," Marco told him, "I don't. Abuela's lived a good, long life. She's seen more sadness and happiness than anyone. She deserves a rest, but I-… I just-…"

"You'll miss her. You will. It's a fact of life. She's been there for you your whole life, and now you know she won't be there much longer," Mike explained softly, "Listen, babe, it's okay to feel sad about that. It's okay to be sad. I'll be here for you no matter what, okay? I promise."

"Okay… okay… Can-? Can we go to bed? I'm really tired."

"Of course, babe. Whatever you need."

xXxXx

Mike always liked going home to see his parents. There was something comforting about the house he grew up in and the familiar flow of signing that was a native language to him.

- _Mike, I can tell you have a lot on your mind_ -, his mother signed, alone with him in the kitchen, - _I can always tell when you're thinking too much. You get little lines in your forehead. Is it work?_ -

- _Kind of. It's someone I work with._ -

- _Are you having problems with them?_ -

- _No, Mom. It's complicated._ -

- _It's Marco, isn't it? The man you've brought over a couple times?_ -

Mike smiled quietly.

- _Nothing gets by you, does it?_ -

- _You had a fight?_ -

- _No. No fight._ -

- _Then what?_ -

Mike sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. His mother watched him patiently, waiting for him to start signing again. He brought his hands up but dropped them again, like someone opening their mouth and snapping it shut, and licked his lips nervously. After a long moment, he raised them again, asking, - _You know Marco and I are living together, right?_ -

His mom offered a knowing smirk, replying, - _Oh, I know all about you and Marco. A mother always knows._ -

Heat crept into his face. She added, - _I can tell you love him very much and that he loves you very much. That's why I can't believe there's a problem between you two._ -

- _There's no problem between us,_ \- he explained, - _It is hard sometimes because we have to keep it a secret, but that may change one day, and we're happy as long as we have each other. Just-… I feel sad, Mom._ -

- _Sad? Why?_ -

- _Marco's grandmother is sick. She's going to die soon, and Marco's very upset about it. I don't know how to make him feel better. I'm sad for him. How do I make him feel better?_ -

- _You don't,_ \- she answered simply, - _There is no making it better. Loss is painful, and her death will hurt him no matter what… but you can be there for him. You can help share his pain. He will need the comfort of someone who loves him in his sadness. All you can do is be there for him, but that will be enough._ -

- _Will it?_ -

He wanted it to be enough, but he wasn't sure it would be. He wanted to take Marco's pain away, wanted him to never feel sad again. Mom's expression softened, and she laid a palm against his cheek.

- _My sweet little boy… always wanting to help others, especially the ones you love. Trust me, what you do for Marco will be enough, and he will love you for it. I'm happy for you._ -

Mike ducked his head, tears blurring his vision. He flattened his palm, brought it up to touch his fingertips to his chin, and brought it back down, palm up. Mom smiled.

- _You're welcome._ -

He went home before it got too late. Marco was sitting up waiting for him, absently watching TV. Both cats came trotting over to greet him and rub against his legs. Mike obediently bent to pet them.

"How was everything at your folks'?" Marco asked.

Mike lifted his hands, ready to sign his answer, but managed to stop himself and verbally replied, "It was good. Just nice to get over and see 'em. How's Abuela Jesusa?"

Marco sighed long and low, answering, "Not good. She's… Stela got her admitted to the hospital today. They say it won't be long now, an-and I can see it, too."

He turned to look at Mike finally, fixing him with wet, red-rimmed eyes. Mike's heart sank. _He's been crying. He's been crying, and I haven't been here for him._ He breathed, "Oh, babe," and immediately went to wrap his arms around Marco. The other man's breath hitched as he tried not to cry out loud. Mike rubbed his back, stroked his hair, but he said nothing. Words were useless at this point.

"Mike? _Querido_ , would-… would you come with me to the hospital tomorrow?"

"Sure, if you want me to… but I wouldn't wanna intrude. That's a time for your family to-"

"You are family. You can be there… I-I need you there, Mike. I need you there with me."

"Then wild horses couldn't keep me away," Mike replied without hesitation.

He kissed Marco's forehead, his eyelids, his nose, his lips. Marco sniffed. Mike whispered, "Marco, I promise I will always be there if you need me. I love you so much, and I want to be there to take care of you."

Marco's lip trembled, making Mike fully aware of what he's just said.

"Mike… Mike, I love you, too."

Mike smiled softly in spite of himself, in spite of the situation. They'd felt the words all along, that was for certain, but saying them aloud them real and tangible and wonderfully true. He kissed Marco again, gently, soothingly, trying to ensure it completely encapsulated his love for him. _And I do love him… more than I've ever loved anyone._

"C'mon, babe… let's go to bed," Mike suggested quietly, "Some sleep'll help."

"It won't. It won't be better."

"No, it won't. It's still gonna hurt, but at least you won't be tired. C'mon… come with me…"

Marco allowed himself to be led into the bedroom they now shared. Both men stripped down to their shorts and climbed into bed together. Mike wrapped his arms around Marco, holding him tight, and Marco curled up against him, twining their legs. He ran his fingers through the silky black hair, enjoying the feeling of the warm body pressed to his. _We'll be alright. We'll go through hell, but we'll be alright._ He dropped a kiss to Marco's hair, desperately wishing it was enough to ease the pain.

A hospital would not be Mike's first choice for a good place to spend his final days. He would much rather die in his home, surrounded by family and familiarity, not in a hospital being treated like just another case, another patient, another bed. There was nothing warm and familiar and comforting about a hospital. Mike kept half-hoping Caridad and Maristela and Marco would come to their senses and take Abuela Jesusa home to die, but that never happened. Instead, the whole family crowded into the tiny hospital room, immediate family and their significant others closest to the bed, so Mike was given a front row seat to the family's grief.

 _I suppose this is as close we'll get to a coming out. I mean, this isn't exactly something you bring someone who's just a friend to, no matter how good a friend they are._ Marco clung to his hand, perhaps needing an anchor, something to keep him tethered as his grief threatened to carry him off. Mike gripped back. He could remember the horrible waiting from when his Aunt Stella died, remembered watching her slowly succumb to illness and age… remembered watching her succumb in an eerily similar hospital room. He suppressed the shudder that crawled up his spine and squeezed Marco's hand a little tighter. Marco tensed beside him, and Mike tried to calm him without words. He didn't want to upset him any more than he already was. Marco didn't need that. Mike squeezed his hand.

xXxXx

"Hey, Mike, you wanna come into the office for a minute?" Hank asked.

The engineer looked up from the couch where he'd been lavishing attention on Boot and rose to follow Hank into the office, where Hank bid him to sit. Mike was routinely quiet, but in the last couple of days he'd been absolutely silent, only speaking when directly spoken to and only using the minimum amount of words needed.

"Mike, is everything alright?" Hank asked, sitting not behind his desk but beside the other man, "I know Marco's been having an awful time 'cause of his grandmother dying, but you haven't come to me with any problems even though you seem kinda bothered. Now, you live with Marco. Is what's goin' on with you related his grandmother?"

He nodded, and it was a moment before he spoke up, "It's just hard, Cap. It's hard to watch him be so sad when there's nothing I can do to help, nothing I can do to make it better. I mean, it doesn't help that I've met Abuela Jesusa, that I like her and know her… so I guess this whole thing is makin' me pretty sad, too."

Mike was staring down at his lap, looking at his own twitching fingers. Hank sighed quietly. He'd been in this department for a little over eleven years now, and he was anything but stupid. Some of his past captains treated him otherwise, but Hank was observant man. He was a captain, after all. He had to be observant, especially when it came to his men. Hank's job wasn't to be their father or big brother, but he was there to be a mentor, someone they would come to with questions of either a professional or personal matter.

Soon after arriving at 51s, however, it became rapidly apparent that Hank might not be completely qualified to answer some of the personal questions they might have… particularly Mike and Marco. Now, Hank worked to be a tolerant man, he really did. He tried his hardest to rid himself of the prejudices his parents had instilled in him over the course of his life, worked to get rid of the racism against any and every minority, actively sought stations at the start of his career that had more minority firemen to get over such thoughts, and so far it's worked. There was still one more hurdle, though.

Like many firemen, Hank was wary of having homosexuals in the department. They were men who liked looking at and having sex with other men, maybe even men they worked with, and that made him (and plenty of others) uncomfortable. It wasn't right or natural or anything like that… or so he'd thought. He and his men were at the Blue Moon, the gay club that was set ablaze when a man threw a Molotov cocktail into a bar full of patrons, injuring a number of people, some severely.

That had blown Hank's mind. He couldn't believe someone could be so full of hate as to try and brutally murder a building full of people. The victims were all helping each other out, helping the firemen, helping the paramedics. Some of them were doctors and nurses and orderlies. Just like any other victims of any other tragic fire, they held each other and cried and tried to make sure their friends and loved ones were safe and wondered why this horrible thing happened. It made Hank think, really think. What were these people doing that was worthy of hatred? Their only crime was loving someone, and how could love be a crime?

He looked at the fireman sitting beside him. He'd had suspicions about Mike and Marco from the very beginning. There were guys who worked together well, and then there were guys who worked together too well. Add that to the hushed discussions between Chet and Johnny that set Roy's eyes rolling, to their sudden moving in together, to their being all but inseparable, and Hank felt the case was pretty clear. _Especially now… I know exactly how he feels right now. I felt the same way when my wife's father died. Sure, I was upset, but seeing her like that and knowing I couldn't fix it was the worst._ Any doubts Hank still had were being dragged out to sea.

Hank settled a hand on Mike's shoulder, causing Mike to look up at him, and quietly told him, "It's always hard to watch people you care about suffer like that. Hard to watch when they're sad, when they're sick, when they're angry at the world. The hardest part is knowing it's all outta your hands. You're an engineer, so you kinda know the feeling already. It can be hard enough to deal with at work, but when it's someone you're with all the time, someone you care about, it-it's a hundred times worse. Trust me, I know."

"How do I deal with it, Cap?"

"How do you deal with it at work? You just have to accept it's outta your control. Accept that it's a part of life. Then-… well, then you just have to be there for them. Is Marco okay?"

Mike shrugged, answering, "I-I guess… I mean, he's as okay as he can be under the circumstances. He's just-… he doesn't wanna be sad, but he is. There's really no way not to be sad when somethin' like this happens, when someone who's been there for you your whole life is gonna die. I've been through it myself before, so I think the worst part is that I know exactly how he feels. I know the grief, the waiting, wondering if every phone call would be the one saying the person died. They die a hundred times in your mind before they actually do."

He ducked his head, but Hank caught a glimpse of tears in the blue eyes. Hank tightened his grip on Mike's shoulder and said, "If you need to leave, too, you tell me, Mike. I won't ask any questions or make any judgments, especially if you think Marco shouldn't be alone just now."

"No, he's got all his family there with him," Mike replied, "They have plenty of arrangements to make, after all. It should be a sizeable funeral, what with how many people are in the family."

"Would you be going to the funeral?"

"I think so. By all counts, Abuela Jesusa doesn't have very long, so the funeral should be within a couple weeks."

"Let us know what's goin' on, okay? We all wanna be there for Marco."

"I will, Cap."

"Good. Now, is there anything else I can help you with? Anything else you wanna talk about?"

Mike shook his head. Hank dismissed him, watching his engineer slip out into the bay. _It'll be okay… but for a while it's not gonna feel great._ He dropped into his chair, scrubbing at his face, and picked up the phone to call his wife. Marco's mother probably needed some helping hands… and some friendly hearts.

xXxXx

Jesusa Maria Santillian-Lopez was buried on a Wednesday. The wake had taken place the day before, and Marco had insisted Mike go to work rather than sit home with the grieving family. Mike put up a bit of a fight over it ("Please, Marco, I wanna stay with you. I don't want you alone."), but Marco won out. The shift showed up at the Lopez house to pay their respects, arriving in the squad and Cap's sedan. Marco's replacement stayed outside, letting everyone else go in. Rosario was overwhelmed with gratitude, and Marco looked equally grateful to see his friends.

They were all there for the funeral the next day, sitting together in simple black suits. Mike and Marco had another small argument that morning.

"You should sit with the guys at the church, _querido_ ," Marco told him, "I think they're already a little suspicious, and we need to be careful."

"I don't wanna be careful. I wanna be with you. I wanna be there for you, babe."

"You will be there for me. I'll know exactly where you are, and I'll know you're there because I asked you to be there. I-… I wish we didn't have to worry about what everyone else thought, but we do. Mike, I promise I'll be alright… 'cause I know I'll be coming home with you."

Mike leaned in to give him a gentle kiss, pulling him into an embrace. An hour later, he was sitting with his shiftmates, a few rows removed from the immediate family. Mike remembered the ceremony, was pulled back to the day of his Aunt Stella's funeral, held in a Catholic church much like this one, with marble and gilded portraits of saints and Christ and the Virgin Mary. He fought back the memories. They weren't good, would only upset him. He could hear people crying up at the front and belatedly realized he hadn't seen Marco really cry. There were a few tears when it all first happened, but Mike couldn't be sure the man had truly grieved. _Of course, people grieve differently from one person to another. I just wanna be sure he's okay._ Mike got the feeling that Marco had to do a lot of being strong for everyone else and hiding his own grief.

The burial was as well attended as the funeral, a multitude descending on the cemetery, but Mike was still back with his shiftmates. Cap and Roy were somber and stoic, where Chet and Johnny were trying to imitate them. Mike wasn't sure what emotions were showing on his face. He looked to Marco, and something clenched in his chest, burned in his stomach. He longed to stand beside the man he loved, longed to simply be able to hold his hand and comfort him in his time of grief, longed for the day they could be as open and free as anyone else. _Not while we're both firemen… maybe not while either of us is a fireman._ Tears burned in Mike's eyes, and he cast his gaze at the ground. He jumped, feeling someone touch his arm at about the elbow. Chet's blue eyes were apologetic and sad, his grip warm on Mike's arm.

Mike often wondered if the guys were really suspicious or if they were just paranoid. Cap's comments the other day leaned toward the former, as had some made by Chet not long ago, though Mike hadn't noticed anything solid from either Roy or Johnny… but that's not to say it never happened, just that Mike had never noticed it. No one at their apartment building had said anything to that effect, although it wasn't uncommon for bachelors to share an apartment these days. In any case, it was better for them to be safe than sorry.

The first outburst of laughter at the luncheon was a surprise. The firemen were sitting together, picking at plates of food, when Marco's youngest sister Pilar started laughing loudly. Mike had never heard laughter at a post-funeral luncheon before, certainly not his Aunt Stella's so many years ago. The outburst was like a river overflowing its banks, flooding into other people, prompting them to share stories of Abuela Jesusa, stories of good times. Marco made his way to their table with a story from when he was kid.

"I think I was about… four," Marco explained, "Me and some of the older kids were being watched by Abuela while Mama took Pilar with her to a doctor's appointment. Abuela kept plenty of toys for us to play with at the house, but the rule was whatever we got out to play with, we had to put away when we were done. Well, I couldn't reach something I wanted to play with, so Abuela got it down for me. When it was time to clean up, I didn't put it away, and so Abuela told me to put it away. I told her I didn't get it out, and when she asked who did, I said it was her. Abuela was havin' none of that, and I can tell you, I never tried that again. To this day, my ass hasn't forgotten that wooden spoon."

Mike snorted. _That's my Marco._ The guys all started sharing stories of childhood misbehaviors, and it lifted Mike's spirits to see Marco laughing at his shiftmate's misfortunes. Chet's were arguably the best, a series of minor misbehaviors that ended with him having a sore ass and being grounded, though his setting the school bully up in fourth grade was definitely impressive. That many waterbombs would have been a logistical nightmare for an adult; he couldn't believe a nine-year-old accomplished it. Mike didn't really have any good stories, being a shy and well-behaved child, and he noticed that Roy only spoke of his own children and not himself.

The guys all left after a few hours, leaving Mike behind with Marco and the family. Rosario came over to him, smiling sadly, saying, "Thank you for joining us today, Migue, for being with the family. I was very happy to see all of you here for Marco today… and I am sorry you could not stand with him among our family, though I know your reasons. We understand."

A lump rose in Mike's throat. _Marco said we were blessed once, and we really are. We're blessed to have families who love us no matter what._ They remained at the Lopez house until nightfall, when Rosario and the other women (and some of the older men) started a prayer in Spanish, and Marco explained that it was called a _novenario_.

"They'll pray for nine days, twice a day, to ensure the dead one's soul gets into Heaven," he said quietly, "Really, everyone is supposed to pray, not just women and older people, but that's kinda how it works anymore. I was never any good at remembering to pray like that, but I'm gonna try to go to Mass this weekend for Abuela. She'd like that, I think."

"I'm sure she'd like anything you'd do for her," Mike replied.

The two firemen tried to stay and help clean up, but Rosario shooed them out of the house, telling them, "Marquiño, you need some rest. You've worked so hard to help me these last few days and while Jesusa was in the hospital. You deserve some rest, _mi hijo_. Migue, you take care of him, take good care of him. Make sure he eats and sleeps… _ay, mi niños maravillosos_..."

Rosario hugged both of them and gave them each a peck on the cheek, sending them off home.

xXxXx

The world felt off all day for Marco. With all the funerals he'd been to in his life, he thought maybe the funeral of his Abuela would be different. It was one he was ready for. Abuela had been in the hospital, had been ill for some time. Every time the phone rang, he expected news of her death, expected his mother to be weeping as she delivered the news, expected Caridad's calm tones explaining what happened. She died a hundred times in his mind before she actually did. He thought that would make it easier when it finally happened, but it didn't.

He was half-thankful to be there when the old woman finally passed, and he half-wished to be far away when it happened. Marco had been present for the deaths of no less than four immediate family members, not to mention several other cousins, aunts, and uncles. This was nothing new to him, especially now that he worked as a fireman. He'd seen death everywhere, of every kind, and far more tragic deaths than an old woman dying surrounded by her family and thinking of reuniting with her long dead husband. He wanted to be cheerful at this one, cheerful that she went to Heaven, to an Eternal Rest, to Peace… but he just couldn't. Mike made a good point when he said the hurt was from the deceased not being there.

Marco had sat up with his family at all hours, listened to the women cry and weep and wail, watched them let their emotions show clearly while he had to hide his own. Mike did his best to get Marco let his feelings out, but he couldn't. It wasn't done. In his family, the men had to be strong for the women, no tears allowed. Marco was silent in the truck on the way home, though he held Mike's hand on the whole way there, a lump rising in his throat.

Once they were inside their apartment, Mike wrapped him up in his arms, holding him tightly. Marco buried his face in Mike's shoulder, stubbornly trying to choke back his tears. He didn't want to cry in front of Mike. He really didn't. He knew Mike wouldn't care, but he still couldn't bear to let go in front of him.

"C'mon, babe," Mike whispered, "let's get outta these suits. We'll feel better."

Marco allowed himself to be led into the bedroom, where Mike gently helped him undress, slowly undoing buttons without making it sexual. It was an act of comfort, of solidarity, of love. He choked down a small sob. Men don't cry. That was pounded into his head from when he was a child. Don't cry. Don't be a girl. Be _macho_. When they were at last dressed in more comfortable clothes, Mike stepped closer, taking Marco's hands and twining their fingers.

"Are you okay, Marco?" he asked softly, "It's alright if you're not. You can talk to me about it."

Marco pulled in a shaky breath and answered, "It's just-…she's dead. I mean, I knew it had to happen eventually, but-… I dunno, Mike, it's-… it sucks. I just kept hoping maybe this wasn't it… maybe she would get better and go home and live for another ten years… but really, I knew this was the end. I-It's still hard to believe."

"I know… Believe me, I know. You tell me what you need. Let me help, okay? I'm here for you."

A lump rose in Marco's throat. _I don't deserve this man._ Mike whispered, "Whatever you need, I'll be right here, babe. I don't care what it is. You can yell, scream, cry… you could even hit me, and I wouldn't fight back-"

"Christ, _querido_ , I would never hit you," Marco spoke up, "Don't ever think that."

"The point is I just want you to feel better. I don't want you to ever feel that you can't be yourself around me, to feel that you can't grieve. Me… when I'm grieving, I get mad. I cry some, but mostly I get angry, wanna hit something, stuff like that. Just… I only want you to be able to grieve the way you need to. After some bad runs we had, you would cry… you'd cry and try to hide it, only I noticed. You, uh… you don't have to hide it anymore, Marco, not from me."

Marco's lip trembled.

"I can't… I can't do it."

"You can. You're safe with me."

He ducked his head, not wanting Mike to the tears pooling in his eyes. Rough palms cupped Marco's face, calloused thumbs stroking along his cheekbones, and he shook his head.

"You can let go, babe… I'll catch you. I promise."

Marco choked back a sob, saying thickly, "I-I don't want you to see me like that. Mike, please, go away."

"No. I love you, Marco, more than anything, and I don't wanna be anywhere else but right here when you need me."

There were too many emotions swirling in Marco's chest. His heart ached with grief and love and sadness and weariness. He was coming to his breaking point. He all but pleaded, his voice brittle, " _Por favor, mi corazón, no más… déjame en paz,_ Mike, _mi querido… no quiero que usted me vea asé… por favor, déjame en paz_ …"

"I already told you I'm not leaving you. I love you. I want you to trust me with, well, with you."

Tender lips kissed Marco's nose and the corner of his mouth and his cheek. His body shook from the effort of keeping it all in. The week's events were finally catching up with him, making their toll known. His chest was so tight it almost hurt. Tears burned in his eyes and throat, his lip trembling.

"Whatever you need… Marco, please, it's okay… you don't have to be strong anymore," Mike told him softly, still cupping his face, "You're allowed to break now if you want to, if you need to. I'll help you through it. I won't leave."

"Then I-I'll go. I don't want you to-to see me cry like that…"

"And I don't wanna see you cry, but I don't want you be alone. Seeing you like this hurts, but knowing you were suffering alone would hurt more."

"But I-"

"Marco, do you love me?"

"You know I do."

"Do you trust me?"

"Every day. With my life."

"Then trust me now. Let go. I already promised I would be here, promised you'd be safe with me. You don't have to pretend anymore, not for me… never for me… it's okay, babe…"

He finally looked up, gazing into Mike's blue eyes. They were wet and sad and full of love, and that's what started it off. Marco felt his expression crumble, tears finally spilling over, a sob trying to work its way up his throat. Mike pressed a kiss to his lips and pulled him into an embrace. Big, rough fingers cradled the back of his head. The sob was fighting. It would be out soon, free and unable to be recalled or ignored. _Don't cry. Men don't cry… especially when other men can see._ But he's also been told that men weren't supposed to love other men like this, like he loved Mike. _So who really gives a fuck anymore?_

Crying in solitude had a certain cathartic effect, but there was nothing like having someone you love hold you when your whole world was crashing down around you. Marco stopped fighting. He stopped fighting to hide his emotions, stopped fighting the grief, stopped fighting the sobs. It was a wretched sound he let out, in allowing that sob the right of way, the sound of grief born from the death of a woman who did nothing but love him unconditionally for nearly thirty years. It was grief for a woman who helped raise him, took care of him when he was sick, listened to his problems, set him right when his brother died.

Mike held him close, silent as ever, knowing words weren't needed to provide comfort. Marco sobbed uncontrollably, brokenly. He hadn't cried like this in years, not since his brother died, hadn't let the grief take over so completely. He usually only cried in the safety of his own private bedroom, maybe in the shower at the fire station if it was a really bad run. No one had held him while he cried since he was a small child. Being held felt nice. It felt safe. He buried his face further in Mike's shoulder, crying loudly. Everything about Mike was warm: his breath, his skin, his presence. His warmth surrounded Marco, made him feel safe again, made him feel like nothing could ever hurt him again.

Big, warm hands rubbed at his back, stroked up and down his spine, carded through his hair. Marco's tears were hot on his face, in the fabric of Mike's t-shirt. Catharsis. This was cathartic. Marco could feel himself shaking from a week of exhaustion and the exertion of crying so hard after holding it in for so long. He was grateful to Mike for being there, his strong arms keeping Marco from collapsing into a heap on the floor. They swayed gently, carefully rocked by Mike, until all that was left of Marco's grief were quiet hiccoughs and shuddering breaths and wet sniffling. Mike never let go. He kept him wrapped up in his arms, in his warmth, in his love. It was almost enough to send Marco over the edge again, was almost too much for him to bear.

"I wanna go to bed," Marco muttered thickly, "I'm tired."

"Okay… okay, babe… we'll go to bed… c'mon let's clean you up first…"

Marco pulled away from Mike's shoulder, averting his eyes from the wet spot he left on his shirt. Mike guided him into the bathroom, where he wet a washcloth with cool water and gently wiped his face, occasionally planting a kiss to a freshly cleaned area and brushing the hair back from his forehead. They went into their bedroom and lay down together, Mike all but wrapping himself around Marco, enveloping him in his warmth. _Warm. Comfortable. Safe. It's alright. It'll be alright._ Marco nestled in closer, pressing his face to Mike's neck, and murmured, "I love you, Mike. I love you so much."

"I love you, too. Now, go to sleep, babe. I'm right here. I always will be."

* * *

 _ **Any reviews and constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated. It's always nice to know what everyone is enjoying or what I can improve on. Even if what you wanted to say has been said, it hasn't been said by you :)**_


	9. Come On and Turn Me On

_**Warnings: strong sexual content, some strong language, brief mentions of homophobia**_

* * *

Johnny picked up his head, having been nudged by Chet. This was the fourth time in thirty minutes he'd done this, and frankly, Johnny was getting a little annoyed. _I have logs to finish! Real work! And all he's doin' is the crossword and buggin' the shit outta me!_ He turned his exasperated gaze on Chet, ready to smack him if he asked one more question about the damn crossword. Instead, Chet just directed him with his pencil, pointing toward the two men at the sink. Johnny followed his line of sight.

Marco and Mike were carefully doing the dishes, Mike washing and Marco drying. Now, Johnny liked to think he was an observant paramedic on the job. There'd been a number of times where he noticed something no one else did at a scene, either hearing a victim or seeing movement at a critical moment. That was while he was working, however. When Johnny wasn't on the clock, even he had to admit he was more than a little oblivious about people.

That's not to say he was stupid, far from it. Johnny was smart. He was a paramedic, after all, he had had to be, but sometimes he just didn't get it. Chet in particular enjoyed taking advantage of his being somewhat gullible… and a little naïve… and oblivious. _So I don't always pick up on when a chick's flirtin' with me… hardly makes me stupid…_ Johnny usually took the digs at his powers of observation in stride, knowing that without the urgency of a call, he wasn't really good at picking up on things socially. Marco and Mike had been posing a particular problem to him for some time.

From the beginning, Chet had been convinced the two men were in love, which made Johnny pretty uncomfortable at first. He grew up on a ranch in Oklahoma, and being gay was not something a person wanted to be accused of. He'd seen what happens to 'nasty 'lil fags' who tried to live out there. Rural California was not much better, but as a teen, Johnny just accepted it as a fact of life. While he was raised to believe being gay wasn't the worst thing a man could be, his friends and friends' families had other notions, and he looked back on his bullying behavior in shame now, particularly during his early days in the department. Being in a city like LA was helping him, though.

In LA, the people were just so different from each other. The city had so many different types of people in it, had myriad races and sexualities and lifestyles and experiences to learn from, and being in the fire department, he got to learn from them plenty. They've done rescues in churches and synagogues and mosques and gay bars and strip clubs and just about everywhere. It was where the job took them, and Johnny was always ready to do his job. It was paradoxical, almost. The work environment was typically homophobic, but in the work he did, he took care of people no matter what, without care to what they did in their private lives except where it concerned their medical history.

Chet nudged him again, wanting his attention. The blue eyes were wide, his eyebrows raised. Johnny muttered, "Quit it," but continued to look at Marco and Mike for a moment. If they were talking to each other, Johnny couldn't hear, though they were standing close enough that the quietest of whispers would work between them. More often than not, the two men didn't need to speak to each other at all. They stood together at the sink, almost touching sides, brushing against each other every so often.

Johnny returned to his logbook. He supposed Chet had a point. _Maybe they are in love… makes about as much sense as anything else._ The idea hardly bothered him anymore, if at all. _Chet said once he thought they were soulmates. I think I'm beginning to agree._ Chet tapped his pencil on the table in front of Johnny, asking, "Hey, Gage, what's a four-letter word for 'Buffalo water'-? Ow!"

He swatted at Chet, smacking him hard in the arm. Marco and Mike laughed over at the sink.

"Kelly, I told ya to quit!" Johnny exclaimed, "I said- I told ya I been tryin' to finish these logs, and I can't do that if you keep on buggin' me about the damn crossword! Go ask Boot to help ya!"

"I already tried that. He's no good at the crossword. He likes the word scramble better."

There was a loud snort from the direction of the sink. Johnny opened up his mouth to retaliate when the tones dropped for a child trapped.

xXxXx

"Do you even believe that last call?" Marco groused, "Child trapped… kids today are so stupid…"

"How the hell did he even get his foot stuck in the toilet?" Mike asked.

"Why was the kid even in the toilet to begin with?" Cap piped up, "Never in all my years…"

Cap threw his hands up and went grumbling into the office. Mike just shook his head. _Kids end up in the damndest situations anymore. We've been on more stupid rescues…_ He and Marco didn't even fit in the small apartment bathroom, instead waited out by the engine. Marco had shuffled closer to Mike, watched the apartment building nonchalantly, asked very quietly, "So, what did you wanna do tomorrow, _querido_?"

"Well… I think the only thing at the top of my to-do list tomorrow is you."

He could feel Marco's smirk.

"You've gotta be careful with what you say in public, Mike."

"Why? Think someone's listenin' in?"

"Yeah, me," he lowered his voice, "Tryin' to get me hot?"

"Definitely. It's my favorite pastime, Fireman Lopez."

Mike usually wasn't so bold while they were on the job, but when he could be sure they were alone, he let himself have a little fun at Marco's expense. He never took it too far, just tried to have a good time. To be fair, Marco was just as guilty. The lineman chuckled quietly, telling Mike, "Y'know, it's pretty interesting, but you're at the top of my to-do list, too."

"Perfect. Sounds to me like plenty'll get done."

Back at the station, everyone turned in for lights out, and Mike did his very best not to dream of the next day. Getting a full night's sleep actually didn't help. _Got plenty of energy I can use anyway._ He tried not to let on, but Marco was too good for that. As soon as they got into Marco's car, Marco's hand found Mike's thigh, stroking and rubbing.

"Tryin' to turn me on, babe?"

"Always. Is it working?"

"Oh, yeah…"

That was certainly not a lie, heat pooling in his groin.

"We gotta be careful, babe. Don't want me walkin' into that apartment building with a hard-on. People might start gettin' a little suspicious of what goes on."

"Very true. Maybe I should stop."

"Not sure I want you to go that far."

Marco laughed softly and pulled his hand away. Excitement swam in Mike's veins. They'd done this before, gotten done work and went straight home for a little fun. The first time they had sex was awkward and slow, a lot of trying to figure out how it was all supposed to work together, but it was wonderful, and so was every time since. They didn't spend all their time off in the sack, but maybe once a week they'd work out their tension. Things could get pretty hot and heavy, especially with Marco in the lead. He had a little more experience in sexual matters, some more confidence, so Mike generally let him take the lead. (If Mike also enjoyed being the bottom, well, that was no one's business but theirs.) Marco wasn't averse to switching things up, though, and Mike was feeling strangely bold today.

Back in their apartment, Mike quickly pushed Marco up against the door, capturing his lips in a rough kiss, pulling a moan from him. He covered the warm body with his own, pressing his groin to Marco's and rolling his hips. Marco moaned again. Mike could feel the blood rushing into his cock, felt it pulsing hot through his veins. He wanted all of Marco, wanted everything he would give him, knowing he'd do the same. He pulled away after a few moments, looking deep into Marco's deep brown eyes, his kiss-bitten lips, his hungry smirk.

"It's all about you, then, _querido_ ," Marco told him huskily, "You tell me what you want, and I'll do it for you… but I think I know what you like well enough to get you started, if you want."

"Just want you, babe. You know that."

Marco grinned wickedly and said, "Pick a room, any room in the apartment, and I'll blow you in it."

That alone almost sent Mike over the edge. _Holy shit, I think my brain just melted._

"How about-… uh, how about the kitchen?" Mike suggested, "No better place to have somethin' in your mouth, right?"

"Couldn't've said it better myself… Lead the way… tell me how you want me… whatever you want, remember?"

Mike pulled him into the kitchen and backed himself up against the counter, grinning as he captured Marco's lips again, reveling in the wet warmth of his mouth.

"Would you-? I want you naked," Mike told him, "naked and on your knees with your mouth on my cock."

 _Hope that wasn't too much. I'm not used to taking the lead._ Marco smirked, "Whatever Lola wants…" and stepped back, efficiently but seductively stripping himself. Mike's cock gave an interested twitch at the sight of the beautiful, brown, naked body, cock already flushed and erect. His body flooded with warmth as Marco came closer, not quite pressing their bodies together, licking into his mouth deliberately. Mike gripped the silky black hair in one hand, his other reaching down to grab a handful of firm ass, pulling him in so their groins were pressed together. A pair of experienced hands quickly undid Mike's belt and popped the button on his jeans, moving his clothing just enough to free his cock. Marco's fingers wrapped around both erections and pumped slowly. A low groan dropped from Mike's lips. _Yeah, that's some good shit right there… but how do I get him where I want him?_

He didn't want to be too forceful, didn't want to push his lover around. Seeming to sense his insecurity, Marco whispered, "You can play a little rough with me, if you want to. You let me do it with you. I told you, babe, you tell me what you want, and you'll get it. I can take it. I want it. I want you to feel good, and you started this party. It's all yours."

 _He always knows just what to say to make it better. Anyway, here goes nothin'… might as well have fun._ Mike leaned in and kissed him tenderly, told him, "You're one outta three now… still wanna see you on your knees with that pretty mouth on my cock."

Marco obeyed with a smirk, clearly very pleased with himself. Blood pulsed hot through Mike's veins. He could feel the flush rising from his chest up his neck. Mike locked his eyes with Marco's dark brown, not wanting to miss a thing, held the gaze even as a wave of pleasure rolled up his spine when Marco's tongue darted out to lick the head. _Wanna watch every little thing… wanna see him enjoy it, too._ Another wave of pleasure hit as Marco took him in his mouth.

"Holy- fuck… love this… love seeing you like this… love your mouth on my dick, babe…"

He watched eagerly as Marco's head bobbed up and down his erection, dark eyes looking up at him intently almost constantly. Sex had never really seemed appealing until he met Marco, had always seemed ridiculous and useless and messy. _Marco's the only person I've ever known that I've really wanted to fuck, and damn if he doesn't make it worth it._ Times like this made it perfect, times when the world shrank down to only them and their most intimate moments, blue eyes locked with dark brown.

"Beautiful," Mike breathed, "So fuckin' beautiful…"

Marco pulled his lips off Mike's cock with a purposefully wet pop, saying, "Just for you, _querido_ ," kissed along the shaft, " _Solo para mi ángel_ …" swirled his tongue over the tip, "…love givin' you head, love havin' your cock in my mouth, love makin' you feel good…"

He took Mike's dick in his mouth again, but this time he swallowed him all the way to the base. Mike cried out at the feeling of being so enveloped and had to stop himself from thrusting, not wanting to hurt his lover. Marco carefully pulled Mike's balls out of his shorts, rolling them in his hand while his mouth worked his dick. The sensations were almost too much.

Mike took Marco's face in his hands and pulled him up for another kiss, surging down to meet him, pleased to taste himself on Marco's tongue.

"Come on, now, babe, can't make me blow my load just yet," Mike told him, "Still got plenty of energy to expend…"

"Is that right? Well, you better tell me how you want me, then…"

"Right here against the counter."

"How unsanitary," Marco smirked.

"We can clean up later. Got more important things to do right now. Just wait right here…"

Mike quickly retrieved lube and a condom. Marco was bent over the counter when he returned, his perfect ass on display. That gave Mike an idea, a wicked idea. He stepped up behind Marco, cock sliding against his ass, and kissed his way down the richly tan back with lips and teeth, worked his way down until he was kneeling. _This should get a nice rise out of him._

Marco's whole body jumped when Mike's tongue touched his ass. Mike was a bit surprised himself, honestly, as this was not something he ever imagined himself doing, but there he was, with his tongue basically in someone's ass. Marco moaned above him, though Mike didn't remain there long. After a few moments, he got to his feet, dropping a kiss to the brown shoulder in front of him.

"It's my turn to ask what you want, Marco," Mike whispered in his ear, "What do you want?"

" _Te quiero, corazón_ … want you so bad…" he panted, trying to push his ass up against Mike's erection, "Want you to fuck me and make me yours…"

"My pleasure…"

He kissed the back of Marco's neck and reached for the lube and condom, rolling it on and slicking up. Lining up his cock with Marco's ass, he leaned over and whispered, "Keep your hands on the counter… I wanna be the only reason you cum today."

A low groan rumbled through Marco as Mike pushed in, moving almost tortuously slow until he bottomed out, getting a rush from Marco's tight heat. He waited there for a moment, wanting to give Marco time to adjust to being filled. He was nothing if not considerate, after all. Marco moaned again when enough time had passed, beginning to wiggle impatiently, and Mike really couldn't help himself, asking, "What do you want, babe?"

Marco turned his head to look back, a wicked glint in his eyes, and told him, "Already told you. Want you fuck me… want you to show me I'm yours… want it now, Mike…"

Mike smirked, leaning over to cover Marco's body with his own, whispering, "What's the magic word?"

He pulled back slightly and pushed in again, now holding Marco tightly by the hips.

"Please…"

"Please what?"

He repeated the action. Marco's breath caught in his throat.

"Mike, please, I want you to fuck me… hard."

His cock twitched at that, making both men moan. Mike pulled out almost all the way and thrust back in, his hips snapping forward. He did it several more times, each time pulling a pornographic sound from Marco's lip, each time sending a spark of pleasure up his own spine, his fingers holding the brown hips so tight he thought they would bruise. There was something incredibly erotic about fucking someone while he was fully clothed and they were completely naked. Mike groaned low in his throat, barely making a sound but feeling it vibrate in his ribs.

"Goddamn, Marco… love you… love you so much," Mike panted, covering Marco's body with his own again, still thrusting hard, "love this… wouldn't ever want this with anyone else…"

"Would- _ngh!_ \- wouldn't want you-you to, _querido_ … shit-!... love you…"

The small kitchen was filled with panting breaths and low moans and little whines, with the slapping of skin on skin and the soft rustle of Mike's clothing. _Can't believe this still… it's felt like a dream since our first kiss… can't believe he's mine and I'm his…_ Marco pushed back to meet each thrust, exquisitely clenching on occasion, clearly trying his best to push Mike to the edge and doing a damn good job of it.

"Fuck… Mi-Mike, I'm gon- _ah!_ \- gonna-!"

"Yeah… yeah, cum for me, babe… cum with me…"

He could feel his orgasm building, could feel the heat low in his belly. He continued to thrust, pumping hard. Marco shivered finely beneath him. Mike murmured, "I want you to cum with me, babe," in Marco's ear. His breath hitched, his back jumping under Mike's chest. He brought a hand around to Marco's chest, sliding it down to his belly, still keeping it away from his dick.

Marco let out a keening gasp, loud yet not, his body shuddering as he clenched around Mike's cock. Lights popped behind Mike's eyes. He felt his cock pulsing, blood pumping through his veins, heart pounding in his chest. Pleasure rolled up his spine in waves. His hips rocked lazily into Marco as he rode out the end of his orgasm. A few moments passed before Mike pulled out, gently turning Marco to kiss him.

"You're so beautiful," Mike whispered between kisses, "I'm so lucky… can't believe you would let me do this for you, babe… never thought I would ever be with someone so perfect…"

"You took the words right outta my mouth, _corazón_. I love you so much…"

Mike smiled, kissing him languidly, and replied, "You know I love you, too. In fact, I love you so much I'm gonna clean your cum off the cabinet and not complain once."

Marco snorted, asking, "When that's all done, you wanna maybe meet me in the shower?"

"Absolutely. I'll do my best to return the favor."

He watched Marco's ass as he disappeared into the bathroom, wondering if he would manage to actually finish cleaning the cabinet before his body made him follow.

* * *

 _ **Remember, reviews and concrit are always welcome. Even if it's been said before, it hasn't been said by you :)**_


	10. Yours and Mine

_**Warnings: strong sexual content, strong language.**_

 _ **A/N: Hope everyone enjoys this one.. I had a very rough day today, and editing this one to update definitely made me feel better. I certainly hope you all feel the same way :)**_

* * *

The phone rang at Station 51 fairly early in the morning, not too long after the firemen all woke up. Grumbling and shuffling, Mike picked up the phone with a rough, "Station 51. Stoker."

" _Hey, Stoker. It's Montgomery, from C-shift._ "

"Hey, Monty. You don't sound good."

" _I don't feel so good, either. Could I talk to Captain Stanley?_ "

"Sure, one minute…"

He set the phone down and called for Cap, who answered that he'd take it in the office. Mike wandered back into the kitchen once he'd picked it up.

"Dammit, who swiped my coffee? Chet-"

"Whoa there, babe, don't look at me. Johnny here's the notorious coffee stealer."

"Wha-? Kelly, I don't-"

"You do. You steal my coffee every day. My coffee, my food, my paper-"

"Roy, that's bein' unfair! I don't steal your stuff!" he stated indignantly.

Everyone snorted loudly. Chet smirked, "Oh really? I could probably name ten things right now. His coffee cup just this morning, half a donut, the sports page, a pen, socks-"

"Okay! Alright! I get it. Someti-Sometimes, I borrow things."

Another collective snort.

"None of this solved what happened to my coffee, fellas," Mike spoke up, "Now where is it?"

"Sorry, Mike. Musta picked it up thinking it was mine," Marco said at last.

Mike rolled his eyes. _I'm sure he enjoyed that whole exchange, though._ He poured himself another cup and dropped into the chair next to Marco, enjoying the proximity. They had four days off coming up, and Mike was already formulating some utterly filthy plans for the next two of them. He wasn't about to reveal that to Marco, though, wanting it to be a surprise. _He'll never know what hit him._

"Fellas," Cap said, coming into the kitchen, "That was Monty from C-shift. He's got some kinda bad bug and needs someone to cover this shift for him. Any takers?"

"I'll do it, Cap. I could use the extra money," Marco spoke up after everyone else made their excuses, "The Charger needs a couple parts."

"Sounds good. I'll let Hookrader know when he comes in."

Mike had to work to keep from pouting. That was very unfair. He semi-cornered Marco in the locker room after breakfast.

"Why'd you do that, babe?" he whispered, "If you needed money, you shoulda asked."

"That would've been too suspicious, even for us. Besides, I'd feel better about it, spending money I earned myself on something more frivolous like my car."

"But I was gonna surprise you with something special."

"Oh? And what would that be?"

"Just somethin' special. Can't say or it'll ruin the surprise."

"Guess I'll be aching for it all shift, won't I?"

"Guess you will."

Making certain no one was there to see, he carefully palmed Marco's cock through his pants, felt it go semi-hard at his touch, muttered, "I'll give you that to remember me by, babe… and tomorrow morning, when you get home, there'll be a nice surprise waiting for you."

Marco bit back a groan as Mike left, asking one of the guys for a ride home.

xXxXx

 _Remember, indeed…_ Marco almost had to retreat to the latrine at one point to jack off but managed to hold off the images assaulting his mind. He could scarcely imagine what kind of surprise Mike had in store for him. He certainly hoped it was sexual, and his mouth all but watered when he thought of it, each daydream more tantalizing than the last… though they in no way prepared him for what he found when he got home.

"Mike? _Querido, dónde estás?_ Huh, where are you, _mi cariño_?" Marco called teasingly.

"I'm in the bedroom, babe… You gotta come to me… but I assure you, it's well worth it."

Mike's voice sounded odd and breathy but not distressed. Marco followed it into the bedroom. He was hard as soon as he opened the door and saw Mike.

"Glad to see me?"

Mike laid across their bed, completely naked and fully erect, his brown hair tousled, skin flushed.

"I woke up like this at six," Mike told him, his voice a little shaky, "I dreamed about you last night, about what I wanted you to do to me today. I even already came once since I woke up… didn't clean it off, either… it's still all over me. You see it? Just for you, babe… only for you."

Marco all but tore his clothes off in his effort to remove them. He climbed up the bed, covering Mike's body with is own, and ravished his mouth. Mike's hips rocked up into his, their cocks sliding together. Pleasure sparked up his spine, his heart beating rabbit quick, his blood running hot.

"Waited for this all shift," Marco told him, lips working their way along his jaw and down his throat, "It's a good thing I know how to control myself… Things coulda got pretty awkward at the station… had some pretty hot fuckin' daydreams about you the whole time… about what I wanted to do to you…"

"Tell me what to do, babe," Mike said huskily, "Tell me how you want me, where you want me… tell me what you wanna do to me. It's all about you today. Whatever you want, Marco. I'm yours."

Marco's cock twitched. He whispered, "I want you tell me what you were thinking about this morning when you came all over yourself… want you to tell me how you jacked yourself off waiting for me today…"

Mike moaned softly as Marco's lips worked around his chest, paying particular attention to the two pink nipples. A moment passed before Mike complied with his wishes.

"I had a sexy dream about you, babe… was hard when I woke up. I tried to wait for you to come home, but I just couldn't. Could only think of your mouth on mine, of your perfect cock, your beautiful body… All I had to do was picture you here fucking me… used my fingers to pretend you really were," Mike explained, his breath hitching when Marco did something particularly wicked with his mouth, "I came so hard, as hard as when you fuck me almost… knew that was how I wanted you to find me, naked and hard and splattered with my own cum… knew you would like it."

"Because you always know just what I like, _cariño_ … always have."

"Yup, always… since the beginning… That's what I wanted to celebrate. It's been two years since we met… two years yesterday."

"Two years since our lives have changed," Marco agreed, smiling.

"And I wanna celebrate right," Mike told him, "wanna treat you right, wanna let you do what you want with me… just tell me what to do, Marco."

"Right now I just want you to keep usin' that pretty mouth. I know you know how."

Mike grinned seductively and carefully flipped their positions, his body hovering over Marco's. He took his time kissing down Marco's torso, stopping everywhere that drove him crazy, seeming to delight in the noises he pulled from his mouth. Marco was still unprepared for the pleasure of the warm, wet mouth enveloping his cock. _Shit, for a guy who never really talks, he sure as fuck knows how to use that mouth._ Mike had become downright proficient at sucking cock, could do utterly sinful things with his tongue… not to mention his hands. His hands were always busy as his mouth, usually playing with Marco's balls or ass. A blowjob from Mike was a borderline religious experience.

He pulled his lips off Marco's dick with a wet pop and crawled up to kiss him. Marco moaned low in his throat at the taste of himself on Mike's tongue. It was just such an intimate thing to share.

"Where do we go from here, babe?" Mike whispered against his lips, "Choice is yours."

"Hmm… had a dream yesterday where you let me fuck you hard and fast and rough… it was pretty fuckin' hot, but I won't do anything you're not 100% okay with. I don't wanna hurt you."

"We can try it, if that's what you want. Honestly, it sounds really hot, like it might feel good. I won't say I haven't thought about it before… sounds dirty and sexy, y'know?"

"Alright then… you make yourself comfortable, and I'll get ready…"

He kissed Mike tenderly on the lips, then rose to get a condom and the lube while Mike set up some pillows to lay his hips over, ass in the air.

"Don't worry about prepping me," Mike told him, "I'll be okay. I did some earlier."

"You're sure, _querido_?"

"I'm sure. Go ahead and be rough. I can take it."

Marco's cock throbbed in response. He switched mindsets easily, ready to put on a show, ready to have a little fun… like he knew Mike liked.

"You wanna be fucked hard, Mike?" he whispered roughly, "Huh? You want my cock in your ass?"

Mike's only response was a shiver and whimper Marco recognized as pleasured.

"What was that?"

"P-Please…"

"Please what, _querido_? Use that pretty mouth."

Mike whimpered again, answering in a voice shaky with anticipation, "Please fuck me hard, Marco, babe… please…"

Marco lined up and pushed into Mike slowly, not wanting to hurt him no matter how hard they were about to fuck. Mike gasped, moaned loudly. The sound went straight to Marco's cock. Already heavily aroused, his hips snapped forward the last inch, making Mike gasp again. Marco leaned over, his body covering Mike's, keeping his hips still, and spoke in a low voice he hoped he had dripping with sex.

"Fuck, you feel so good, Mike… love havin' you like this, love fucking you… 'cause I know you love it, too… want you to remember this, _mi cariño_ … want you to love this."

"I will, Marco… love this so much," Mike replied breathily, wiggling under Marco to get him to move, "Please, babe, I love it when you fuck me, babe… do it now, c'mon, fuck me now…"

"I should make you wait, bein' so demanding like that… should wait just like this, here inside you…"

Mike a whine of protest. Marco chuckled and kissed Mike's shoulder tenderly before giving it a gentle bite and sucking hard at the flesh there, knowing it would leave a little bruise. At the same time, he rolled his hips, finally moving inside Mike, who moaned beneath him and pressed back. Marco rose to his knees behind Mike, gripped his shoulder with one hand and his hip with the other, ready to do as Mike wanted him to. _He said it was about me and what I wanted, but for me it's about him and what he likes. He wouldn't have agreed to do this if he didn't want to, if he thought he wouldn't like it._ He gave a rough thrust, and Mike's hands gripped the sheets tightly.

The bed creaked with the pace Marco set, the sound mixing with that of their skin slapping together and Mike's little whimpers and moans and small grunts from Marco. He held Mike tight, half-certain his fingertips would leave bruises where he held him at shoulder and hip, half-certain he would love to see such marks on his lover. Never before had Marco been so completely enthralled with someone, so desirous of someone's attention that he felt compelled to mark them as his own and no one else's, to let them know Mike was his and his alone. _He almost makes me feel… possessive. Almost..._

"C'mon, Mike," Marco said after a minute or two, pulling out, "I have an idea… Roll over, _querido_ …"

Once Mike was on his back, Marco pulled him closer, pulled him to the edge of the bed.

"Wanna see your face when you cum," he whispered, "You're so beautiful when you cum…"

Mike's skin was flushed a handsome, erotic pink, his erection heavy against his belly. _Perfect…_ Marco returned to the pace of before, thrusting roughly, watching hungrily as Mike's cock bobbed in time with his movements. Heavy-lidded blue eyes watched Marco, dark with lust. His hands fisted in the sheets. He was happy when Mike came first, his eyes almost rolling back, a shuddering moan escaping his lips, cum spurting over his belly and chest. Marco gave a few more thrusts, then pulled out and peeled the condom off, taking his cock in hand. All it took was some good fast strokes, and Marco came hard, releasing an explosive groan as his cum mingled with Mike's.

Marco bent and licked a stripe up Mike's chest, tasting the saltiness of cum and sweat. He whispered, "Beautiful… you're so beautiful, Mike… love you… love that you're mine… and I'm yours, _mi amor_."

The smile Mike wore was blissed out happiness and love.

"Hmm, mine and yours… I like that."

"It does have a pretty great ring to it."

"Yeah… hey, c'mere and kiss me again… want a kiss…"

Marco complied happily, pressing his lips to Mike's. He could feel him smiling still.


	11. From the Old Engineer (to His Pupil)

_**Warnings: original character death, some strong language.**_

 _ **This is a bit of a longer chapter again. I gotta say, updating this fic on Monday sure makes my Mondays better. Monday seems to be 'servers-call-out' day at the Applebee's I work at, so the last three (including today) have been pretty nuts. Knowing I have this to do gets me through the day 3**_

* * *

The phone rang in the early afternoon in late June, swiftly answered by Mike.

" _Stoker? This is ol' Bobby Starrett,"_ the voice on the other end drawled.

"Bobby Lee Starrett! Holy- how've you been, man? I haven't heard from you in… wow, I think it's been a year or two, at least. I came to 51s a little over two years ago, left 69s finally."

" _It's about time. You were there damn near your whole career. About time ya got a 'lil change in your life, boy. Wanted t'give ya a call, Stoker, seein' as how I'm transferrin' over to 45s as their B-shift captain. Know it's a 'lil closer to y'all's station."_

"Yeah, our territories kinda overlap sometimes, and we get called out on some of the same calls together. So you took Capt. Johnston's spot, then? I heard he was retiring. Got the time in his for pension."

" _Yup. Well, you know I'se workin' in about the same area as Topanga Canyon, over in Malibu an' places like that. Went to 68s in Calabasas for a while. Anyway, heard about Johnston retirin', and me and the wife thought we might like a change of scenery for a bit, get more into the city. Plenty of museums and stuff for her and the kids to visit, go to the movies or the theatre, closer to hospitals, stuff like that. Said we can always go back to the country."_

"That's very true. You start soon, Bobby?" Mike queried.

" _Next week. They're givin' us plenty a' time to move while Johnston finishes his last month. We're all set up here 'round Lakewood, an' I got this whole week free before I start at 45s."_

"Really? Y'know, we should do somethin', like have dinner or go fishin' or do somethin' like that."

" _Why don't you come 'round our place for dinner, Mike? I know Maggie and the kids would love to see ya again, used to see 'em all the time, remember?"_ Bobby offered, _"When're ya off next?"_

"Uh… the day after next. Wednesday."

" _Perfect. Got a 'lil lady you wanna bring along?"_

"Nope. I actually room with one of the guys from my station, Marco Lopez. Sure saves money on rent and gas."

Bobby hummed in agreement and said, _"Well, you're not gettin' any younger, Mike, boy. Time's passin' for you to get yourself a pretty 'lil wife and some kids. Anyway, we'll expect ya around six on Wednesday. That alright?"_

"Sure is. Tell Maggie and the kids I can't wait to see 'em."

" _I certainly will. I know they feel the same."_

Marco walked up just as Mike hung up the phone, asking, "Who was that, _cariño_?"

"Oh, that was Bobby Lee Starrett. He was the first engineer I ever worked with back at 69s. He's about ten years older than me… taught me everything I know, really. Last I knew, he was at 68s, but I guess he's takin' over Capt. Johnston's B-shift at 45s. Just moved into the area, so he invited me to dinner with his family," Mike explained, "We used to be pretty close, actually. I was like an uncle to his kids, but we kinda drifted apart when I left 69s for 51s. I never knew why… wish it hadn't happened."

"You were that close?"

"Absolutely. We were like family, really. Their son, Len, was born deaf, so I helped them out figuring out where to find deaf resources, somewhere to learn sign language, got them to visit with my family so he would he would have deaf adults to talk to. He ended up going to a school for the deaf, too. We were like a little support network for them. I miss that."

"That makes sense. You used to be close, and then it's gone. That's never fun."

"No… no, it isn't," Mike mused quietly, chuckled, said, "You'd like ol' Bobby Lee, I think. He's a funny guy. Bobby's a-a big, burly teddy bear. Strong as an ox but wouldn't hurt a fly- okay, well, he does like to hunt, but he only gets what his family can eat and fills up his freezer, so that's different. He's from Virginia, originally, so that's what he's used to, hunting for his food. He's a nice guy, though, genuinely nice, really likes everyone. I'm sure you'll meet him once he starts at 45s. Maybe we can all have dinner at my parents'…"

"He sounds like a good guy, a good friend. I'd like to meet him."

"You will, and I know you'll get along. I just know it. Oh, I'll be goin' to his place for dinner on Wednesday. Dinner's at six, so I'll probably leave around four-thirty or so… just to get there in time."

Marco hummed in response but said nothing. _I get the distinct impression he's not 100% pleased with my plans, but that's too bad._ Mike had honestly been excited when he's heard Bobby's drawl on the other end of the line. So many times he'd intended to call his old mentor over their last two years without contact, but somehow things always came up that distracted him. He was sure Len and Ellie had grown plenty in those two years, Len probably a foot taller now as he was approaching thirteen. _And Ellie must be nearly outta high school by now._ It was amazing how time flew by.

If Marco was truly upset with him, he didn't show it for the rest of Monday or all day Tuesday at work, so Mike simply assumed he wasn't upset. Him being upset would be ridiculous, after all. Bobby wasn't some old flame or someone Mike was interested in. He was a married man, and Mike was more than happy in his relationship with Marco. Mike loved Bobby, certainly, but loved him as family, loved the Starretts as if they were his own blood.

The Starretts lived now in a little three-bedroom house that looked like the American Dream, white picket fence and all.

"Papa!" he heard Ellie call as he walked up to the front door, "Papa, Uncle Mike's here!"

He saw a blur of color and barely had time to brace himself before he was almost knocked down by Ellie launching herself at him.

"Uncle Mike! It's so good to see you again!" she chirped, "It's been ages!"

"Ellen Louise, you git back in here and let Mike come in the house. You're not the only one wants t'see him. C'mon, now, git back in here. Len wants t'see him, too, now…"

Maggie looked essentially unchanged, her red hair pulled back. Ellie was the spitting image of her mother, round-faced, freckled, and seventeen, neither thin nor fat.

"Mike, darlin', we're so happy to see you again. I've no idea how that communication breakdown happened so easily, but it's no matter now. You must tell me how you're parents are doin'. Are they well? And your sister an' her girls?"

"Everyone's fine, Maggie. They're wonderful. How about here?"

"Oh, we're finer'n frog hair. Ellie's lookin' to go to college soon."

Ellie explained proudly, "I'm gonna go to CalTech and become an astrophysicist and work for NASA!"

"I know you will, Ellie. You're the smartest person I've ever known. If anyone can do it, you can," Mike told her, smiling, "Now, where's Len? Surprised he's not waiting for me…"

"He was playin' a card game," Ellie said, "I'll go get him."

He watched her long red hair disappear around the corner, then asked Maggie, "How's Len been?"

"Oh, he's been alright. Twelve years old now. He plays basketball with some of the boys at his deaf school, does well in class, started lookin' at pretty girls. He's at that age, y'know. It's nice, though, livin' here. It's much closer to his deaf school, a much easier commute for me. I'se always the one takin' him, after all."

Mike was almost knocked down again. He looked down at the weight that wrapped around his middle. Like his sister, Len's face was round and freckled, though his hair was a lighter strawberry-blond in opposition to Maggie and Ellie's fiery red. He was already fairly tall for his age and beginning to fill out, looking more suited to football than basketball. Len stepped back and brought his hands up, signing excitedly, - _Uncle Mike! It's been forever! I missed you!_ -

- _I know it has. I've missed you, too. I heard you play ball. Do you have fun?_ -

- _Yes, but I wish I could play football. There's no deaf team, though, and it's hard to play with a hearing team. They forget I'm deaf, and I got tackled pretty good once. Almost knocked me out._ -

"And then Mama told him not to play anymore," Ellie said, signing also, "at least not with them. Said he needs a deaf team to play with so everyone knows how to communicate."

- _That makes sense,_ \- Mike replied to Len, - _It's much safer for everyone. You won't need paramedics to come treat you when you get your block knocked off._ -

A voice behind them boomed, "Mike Stoker! As I live an' breathe!" and Mike turned, pulled into a quick but crushing hug.

"Bobby Lee, it's sure good to see you again. You don't even look any different."

It was true, as if two years hadn't passed. Bobby Lee Starrett was still larger than life, a burly blond man taller even than Mike, his nose a little flatter than average, his eyes the same warm brown Mike remembered.

"Nonsense. You're just tryin' to butter me up, Mikey. I feel like an ol' workhorse, and I know I must look like one, too. Now, you're the one who ain't changed in two years. Boy, ya still look like a twig."

"Next to you, plenty of people look like twigs."

"Ain't that the truth. C'mon, Mikey, let's get to talkin'…"

Mike couldn't believe two years had gone by when it felt as if nothing had changed. Conversations went the same as they always did, a mix of spoken and sign language and plenty of laughter. Ellie got off on a tangent about a Soviet space probe going to Venus, which was pretty interesting, actually, but other than that it was business as usual.

"Wow, it's almost eleven. I better get home."

"Thought you didn't have a 'lil lady waitin' on ya at home?" Bobby said, lifting an eyebrow.

"I don't. My lady's at the station," Mike smirked, "I have work in the morning."

"You still show up thirty minutes early?"

"Always, and now my roommate does, too."

"Yeah, you said he works with ya?"

"Mhmm, Marco Lopez, one of the lineman. You should meet him sometime. I was thinkin' we could go have dinner at my parents' soon. Rosie and Vi are gettin' big."

"We know the feelin', boy. Alright, well you git home," Bobby told him, "You let me know about dinner at your folks', hear? I know Len would love to see your mother again."

Mike bid everyone goodnight and thankfully made it home in good time. Marco was still up, and he felt a pang of guilt.

"I'm sorry I'm so late, babe," he said right away, stepping up to the couch, "Time just got away from me. You know how it is with old friends, friends that are like family, that you haven't seen in a long time. And I didn't wanna call. I thought it would be too suspicious, y'know?"

For a moment, Marco said nothing, and Mike was terrified that he was truly upset. Marco sighed.

"I'll be honest, Mike… I was kinda mad at first, when it hit nine-thirty, ten, ten-thirty, eleven, and you hadn't called… but I had to remember that, that he is a good friend you haven't seen in a few years. I know I get the same way."

"So you're not mad? Not upset?"

"Maybe because you didn't call, but I understand why you didn't. We'll have to come up with some excuses to call each other, like checking on the cats or asking one of us to put away food."

"I'll just tell them my roommate's a worrywart," Mike smirked.

Marco lifted an eyebrow, saying, "I think it'd be more appropriate if I used that excuse and called you the worrywart."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Means you worry too much, _cariño_."

Mike pouted a little, but it was quickly kissed away by Marco. They pulled away before things got too heated, Mike whispering, "C'mon, babe, let's go to bed. We got work in the morning."

The two of them were in bed in under fifteen minutes, curled up around each other, legs twined.

"This is my favorite place to be," Mike murmured before he drifted off to sleep, "Right here with you…"

Marco gave him a sleepy smile and replied, "Good. I was gonna say the same thing."

xXxXx

Bobby Lee Starrett was a bit overwhelming at first, a huge man with a big voice and a bigger personality. He was the opposite of Mike in so many ways it was almost comical. Marco thought it was ironic that such a loud man would have a deaf son, that someone with such tough hands would need them to eloquently communicate. Mike's hands at least looked elegant enough to sign.

Marco would never tell Mike, but he'd been a little jealous at first. He didn't particularly like the idea of sharing Mike with someone else, no matter who it was, especially because Mike wasn't too close with too many people. He got rid of that feeling as fast as he could. He didn't want to be possessive or jealous or anything like that. Too often in his life he heard of a guy beating his wife or girlfriend because he thought she was cheating or talked to some guy for too long or even looked at another guy. Marco didn't like guys like that. He never wanted to be like that.

Those initial feelings had been ridiculous, anyway. It was clear that Mike and Starrett were just like family, were close as brothers. He enjoyed watching them interact, found it interesting to watch Mike speak with someone he'd known for more than ten years. He'd always felt he and Mike were kindred spirits, felt like he knew him forever from the first, but this was different. Starrett was someone who'd actually known Mike for a long time.

"So, Marco, you're Mikey's roommate, huh?" Starrett asked when they met, "Well, you lucked out, son. Couldn't ask for a better friend than Mikey Stoker. No one better in a pinch."

"Couldn't have said it better myself… plus he's clean and easy to take care of. Not fussy or messy at all."

Starrett laughed at that. Marco liked Starrett. He was kind and friendly and knew his job. _The department needs more men like Starrett to be captains… needs more men like him in general._ One of his friends at 45s told him how great Starrett was to have as a captain, and Marco honestly believed him.

Station 51 was called out to support 45s on a traffic accident near the freeway, involving about seven cars. Starrett was waiting for them, grinning like always.

"Got lucky here," Starrett told 51s, "Don't appear to be no fatalities, mostly just people all shook up an' trapped in their vehicles. Just need help cuttin' 'em out."

"Hey, Bobby, thought you were B-shift? Shouldn't you be home with Maggie?" Mike asked.

"Clukey had to call out, wasn' feelin' too good. Well, I figured I might as well stay on. Could always use some OT. Anyway, you git to work, Mikey. We ain't here to gab."

Mike laughed but did as the captain told him. Cap called, "Mike, you go with Johnny and help him out. Some vehicles might just need a prybar to free the victims…"

After about thirty minutes, all but one car had been taken care of, and Marco helped Mike with the jaws. The paramedics from 45s checked the victims, who were worse off than any others at the scene. Once they were out, 45s quickly got them into ambulances and off to Rampart. Mike went back to the engine to get their equipment put away, so Marco went to help.

"Nice, easy run," Marco spoke up, "Always like a run with no fatalities."

"Who doesn't? Feels good and makes for less paperwork. Here, I'm gonna go say bye to Bobby. Be back in a minute, Marco…"

He watched Mike easily climb down off the engine and busied himself with getting the jaws put away properly before starting to get down himself.

" _Bobby_!"

The voice was Mike's, a terrified scream Marco had never heard before and hoped to never hear again. Marco ran around the engine to him, saw him sprinting toward Starrett who had collapsed on the asphalt. Johnny got to him first, shortly followed by Roy and a guy from 45s. Thinking quickly, Marco caught up to Mike and grabbed him, keeping him from going further. Mike struggled against his hold, and he couldn't blame him.

"Lemme go," Mike begged, "Lemme go, Marco-!"

"No, Mike, stop! You can't-! Stop it! Look, Johnny and Roy are takin' care of Starrett! Bobby's gettin' taken care of, Mike. You can't just charge in there and interrupt them. Let them take care of him, okay?" Marco said, trying to calm him.

Mike stopped fighting after a few moments, nodded shakily, and allowed Marco to lead him closer.

xXxXx

 _I wish every run was so easy, had so many happy endings._ Mike got everything situated in the back of the engine, making small talk with Marco, finally saying, "Here, I'm gonna go say bye to Bobby. Be back in a minute, Marco…"

He hopped off the engine and headed for Bobby, seeing the other man smiling. _He's always smiling. All the time._ Mike took a few steps toward him. A look of surprise came over Bobby's face, his eyes widening, eyebrows rising, mouth falling open slightly. He looked as if he'd only just remembered something important and brought his hand up to his chest. The big man collapsed.

The world froze around Mike for a moment, his vision tunneling down to his collapsed mentor. He screamed, " _Bobby_!" his voice loud and terrified, drawing everyone's attention for sure. Fear clawed at his throat as he took off toward Bobby, only vaguely aware of the others descending on Bobby. Someone stopped him, grabbing him around the waist and holding him back. Mike struggled wildly, desperate to reach his friend, his mentor, his brother. He twisted to see who restrained him, begged, "Lemme go! Lemme go, Marco-!"

There was a rushing in his ears even Marco's voice took a moment to penetrate.

"…gettin' taken care of, Mike. You can't just charge in there and interrupt them. Let them take care of him, okay?"

Mike ceased struggling after a moment, partly from Marco's soothing tone and partly from having worn himself out slightly. Marco started to walk closer to Bobby, and Mike allowed himself to be pulled along. His heart thumped painfully in his chest. _Please… please let Bobby be okay…_ Mike tried not to listen to what Roy was relaying to Rampart. _Sounds like cardiac arrest. Sounds bad. God, please let him be okay._ They loaded Bobby into an ambulance that sped off to Rampart. Mike felt shaky and unsteady. Marco tightened his grip. Chet came over, his eyes big and blue and sad. He put a hand on Mike's shoulder, saying quietly, "He'll be alright… he's got the best people workin' on him…"

Mike couldn't respond. His well-being was in the hands of others now, was to be determined by what happened with Bobby, by whether he lived or died. Something ached in Mike's chest, something empty and horrible, something that set his stomach rolling. Cap made his way over, speaking quietly, "They're gonna send over another team to clean this up. Chet, we'll wait for 'em here. Marco, you take Mike over in the squad to Rampart. We'll pick you up there," he gripped Mike's shoulder, "You'll be alright, pal."

He said nothing, didn't even move until prompted by Marco to get into the squad, was silent all the way to Rampart. For his part, Marco didn't try to get him to speak. A numbing cold spread out from Mike's core, bled into his extremities. It almost hurt physically, the ever-growing helplessness and dread. He prayed Bobby would be alright… while part of him knew he wouldn't be.

The guys from 45s as well as Johnny and Roy were in the waiting area when they arrived. Johnny came over and led Mike to a chair while Roy spoke to Marco.

"He must be a damn good friend to you, Mike," Johnny whispered.

Mike's hands twitched, and he forced his mouth to work, "Ye-Yeah… yeah, Bob-Bobby taught me everything I-I know. He was the-the first engineer I ever worked with. He's li-like family-"

He felt his expression crumple and worked to return it to something resembling neutral. Johnny put his arm around Mike, squeezing his shoulder comfortingly, and told him, "Dr. Brackett's in there workin' on Capt. Starrett now. He's one of the best, one of the absolute best, and if there's anything in the world that can be done for Starrett, Brackett'll do it. I promise you that. Everything that can be done is bein' done, Mike… they're workin'… they're doin' their best…"

Johnny's voice was low and kind, the same one he used on patients. Marco and Roy joined them shortly, Marco sitting beside Mike and Roy beside Johnny. Mike's vision tunneled to the door to the treatment room Bobby was in. He'd only been there a few minutes when it opened. Mike rose to his feet to meet Brackett, whose face did not bear a hopeful expression. The men of 45s, not Bobby's usual shift, seemed to sense Mike's deep friendship with Bobby and allowed him to receive the news.

Brackett gave a deep sigh, telling Mike, "I-I'm sorry… he's gone. We did everything we could…"

His words were drowned out by a loud rushing in Mike's ears, and Mike's knees nearly buckled. Marco was there, gripping his hand and arm to get him back into a chair.

"…was just nothing we could do," Brackett explained, his voice coming back into focus, "His heart simply stopped and wouldn't start again. It's a shame, but it happens in firemen sometimes, even firemen as young as Starrett. It's happened a few times across the country. Just-… I'm sorry, fellas. I wish I coulda done more for him. Has his wife been notified yet?"

"No… no, not-not yet… I'll-… I'll do it now," Mike muttered.

"You can use the phone in my office, Stoker," Brackett offered, "In here…"

xXxXx

Marco watched Mike disappear into Brackett's office, his heart heavy. He wanted to go with him, but he couldn't, not with the other firemen there… not unless Mike asked for him. That would be okay. Cap and Chet arrived just after Mike went into Brackett's office.

"It's not good, is it," Cap said, and it was not a question.

"That obvious?" Marco replied.

Cap nodded. Marco sighed and answered, "Brackett said it was cardiac arrest, said his heart just quit on him and there was nothing they could do… nothing anyone could do."

Cap swore quietly.

"What about Mike?" Chet asked, "Is he alright? I mean, I know him and Starrett were pretty good friends. He looked pretty torn up. Where is he?"

"Yeah, he's not good. He's in Brackett's office now, calling Starrett's wife. Everyone agreed it would be best coming from him. He's known them the longest, after all."

Chet hummed in agreement, looking toward the office door, his eyes bright and sad. Cap sighed, telling them, "Look, I'm gonna call the chief and let him know what's up. I know 45s is gonna be stood down… and honestly our engine'll probably be stood down, too, if we don't get a replacement for Mike because, let's face it, there's no way Mike is gonna be able to go back to work. Be back in a minute…"

Marco watched Cap walk away, then returned his gaze to Brackett's door. Chet put a hand on his shoulder, squeezed gently, whispered, "He'll be alright. He's always alright."

"I hope you're right. I really do… but I think this is different than anything he's been through before."

Chet's eyes followed Marco's gaze to Brackett's office door. The doctor emerged after a moment, slowly making his way over to the firemen. _He looks tired… very tired._ Brackett scrubbed briefly at his face, approached Marco, said, "He's asking for you, Lopez. He's- uh… he's pretty broke up over this… needs a friend."

Marco nodded, swallowing thickly. He thought back to when his Abuela died not so very long ago. Mike had been there by his side the whole time, took care of him, dried his tears, helped him grieve. _I owe him that much… I owe him more._ Brackett walked him to the office and knocked on the door, saying, "Mike? Mike, I've got Marco here. He'd like to come in and talk with you."

There was no response, which was as Marco anticipated. He simply pushed his way into the office. Mike looked worse than sad, and it tore at Marco's heart. He looked utterly lost, as though his whole world had been torn apart from under his feet. Something like envy rose up inside Marco, but he forced it out, was ashamed of it. Mike's eyes looked dry but empty and haunted. _I was there when Abuela died, but we were expecting that. Starrett was forty-one, and Mike watched him drop dead in front of him, no warning._ Marco approached the engineer slowly, not wanting to startle him, unsure if Mike was even fully aware of his presence.

"He-He's gone," Mike said, his voice flat and quiet, "Just like that… he's… he's gone."

"I know, _querido_. I'm sorry… I'm so sorry this happened."

"I-I-I just wish I knew why. Why Bobby? Why now? Ellie hasn't even graduated high school yet. Len hasn't even started high school! It's no-not fair, Marco! It's not fair!"

Mike shouted the last words, making Marco jump slightly. _I remember he told me… his grief is angry. He told me he gets mad. At least he doesn't look blank and empty anymore._ Mike's eyes were wet and bright and angry while his lip trembled, his hands balled into fists. He yelled again, "It's not fuckin' fair! Bobby has a wife and kids to take care of! Kids to put through school! He was gonna watch 'em grow up and get married and have kids of their own and now he can't because he's fuckin' dead! And there's not even anyone I can blame! He's just dead 'cause-'cause his hear-heart gave out-"

He seemed almost surprised by the sob that cut off his words, but his expression quickly crumpled.

xXxXx

There were too many emotions swirling around Mike's head. Everything hurt: his head, his chest, his heart. He felt so much anger and grief and pain, it was overwhelming.

"Hi-His heart was s-so big, Marco," Mike choked out, "I-I don't know how it could jus-just stop like that. He loved everyone. Wh-Why did he die, Marco?"

The brown eyes were sad as he whispered, "I wish I knew," and pulled Mike into an embrace. Mike sucked in a shuddering breath, but it wasn't enough to hold back the sobs. Marco tightened his arms around him but said nothing. Words wouldn't have been much use. Mike wouldn't have been comforted by words. He was barely comforted by Marco's embrace. He just couldn't stop crying. Even though he was sure the other guys could hear him, sure Marco would tire of holding him, he just couldn't keep himself from crying. He cried until he simply couldn't anymore, until he was worn out. Marco gently led him out of the office, and he almost cried again upon seeing the 51s crew there waiting for him just outside the door.

They all went back to the station, Mike sitting with Marco in back of the engine. He didn't remember the ride, his vision tunneled and blurry, barely aware of Marco's presence beside him. The emotions were swirling again, the anger starting to rise once more. He wanted someone to blame, but there was no one. Johnny and Roy had done their job perfectly, as had Brackett. There was no arsonist who'd lit a fire that killed him or a motorist behind the wheel of a car. The only one to even be conceivably angry with was God, and that just wasn't as satisfying as having an actual person to be mad at. The anger was beginning to settle in his veins, pool in his joints. He knew there would be an outburst. When Aunt Stella died, Mike put his fist through a plate glass patio door. The scars were still on his knuckles. His hands shook.

Johnny and Roy both apologized softly, even though they did nothing wrong, and Cap and Chet both offered their condolences. Mike thanked them all politely, trying not to let the anger show in his voice. _Hit something… I wanna hit something…_ It was unavoidable, anger crackling under his skin like electricity. He escaped to the locker room, needing to get away from the sympathy and condolences. His muscles felt tight, especially across his back and shoulders. Red began creeping into the edge of his vision.

Something shattered. Someone yelled. Mike became dimly aware of his surroundings, came to slowly. Chet had Mike's arms pinned to his sides, though he wasn't struggling against the hold, his chest heaving. Pain began creeping into his left hand. Cap led the two of them into the dayroom, saying, "Roy, c'mere and take care of Mike's hand. Everyone else, go clean up that mess in the locker room. Make it quick."

Mike heard footsteps leave, still only vaguely aware of what was happening around him.

xXxXx

Marco was given leave to take Mike home, which Johnny thought was a good idea. _Probably best Mike's not alone after what he did to that mirror._ Cap was carefully sweeping the incident under the rug, planning to buy a similar mirror to replace it, ready to claim one of them accidentally knocked it off the wall. (Johnny nearly got into a heated argument with Chet over which one of them would take the blame, both wanting to help Mike.) Johnny still felt guilt clawing at him.

"You okay, Junior?"

Roy sat beside him on his bunk. He seemed to have some sixth sense where Johnny was concerned, seemed to always know when Johnny was genuinely upset. He looked to his partner. The clear, cloudy-sky eyes gazed right through him, would detect any lie in no time. _He always knows when I'm lyin'… maybe 'cause I'm a shitty liar._ Johnny shook his head.

"It's about Starrett, isn't it."

It wasn't a question. _He always knows._

"I just-… I shoulda been faster… or-or better, maybe," Johnny said quietly.

"Don't, Johnny. Don't do that to yourself. You know not to do that, not to blame yourself for things outta your control."

"I know. I know not to blame myself, but I can't help it. A fireman died. He died right there in front of me, in our care. We were supposed to take care of him, to save his life. That's our job… our duty."

There was a lump rising in his throat, a slight burning behind his eyes.

"We didn't fail," Roy explained gently, as he always did, "We did everything that was in our power to do. Just… it wasn't enough. We're paramedics, not gods. There was nothing that could be done, not by us and not by Brackett."

Johnny sniffed, blinking back tears, and whispered, "I know… but I feel like I let Mike down."

Starrett was Mike's friend, his mentor, practically his family, and Johnny couldn't save him. The fact that Starrett was a fellow fireman made it so much worse. It was never easy, especially when it was a guy he'd met and liked. Johnny felt his lip tremble and was unable to keep a couple tears from falling. He sniffed again, wiped at his face. Roy gently rubbed his back, trying to soothe him.

"Believe me, Johnny, I know how you feel… I feel the same way."


	12. Be Content and Resigned

_**Warnings: some language, funeral service, OC death (previous, mentioned)**_

* * *

Mike waited for his turn to speak at Bobby's service. Tears kept sneaking up on him at odd moments, like during breakfast or watching TV or doing laundry. Marco had been very patient with him and those random bursts of crying, ready to comfort him and dry his tears. _He can't do that here._ Marco sat with the rest of their shift and other firemen from various stations. Mike sat in the first row beside Maggie, Ellie, and Len, across from his fellow pallbearers as was requested in Bobby's will. He couldn't take his off Bobby's body in the open casket. He did not look asleep.

A chief got up to speak first, said all of the things chiefs are supposed to say about duty and honor and loss and courage, though he did have some useful things to say about Bobby personally. That was a nice touch. Their first captain from 69s, now older and much greyer, went next, sharing stories about his time working with Bobby.

"…but if there's anyone in the department who could say they knew Bobby Lee Starrett," Capt. Spahr said, "Mike Stoker could. He's the man who knew Bob best."

Spahr stepped back from the microphone, inviting Mike up to speak. He pulled Mike into a quick hug, offering quiet encouragement.

"Well… anyone who knows me is gonna be pretty surprised, 'cause I've got a lot to say about Bobby Lee, and it's not often I have a lot to say. Now… I've known-… I knew Bobby from the day I-I joined the department. I was a-a lanky, stupid boot, and Bobby was the engineer, and I liked him as soon as I met him," Mike told everyone, ignoring the murmurs as he spoke, sure to sign everything he said so Len could understand, "Bobby greeted me with a big smile, and he never took it off. He had a smile for everyone, all the time. He was kind and smart and knew his job inside and out, and I knew I wanted to be just like him. I looked up to him.

"I never thought he would become one of my best friends. For a while, he was just my mentor. He was the guy who answered all my questions and made sure I knew how to do my job. Then his son Len was born, and him and Maggie learned he was deaf. Most hearing parents would have been devastated, I think, would have been angry, would have been sad… but not Bobby and Maggie. Bobby just came into work and told me like it was no big deal, said 'Well, Stoker, guess I need to learn some of that sign language so I can talk with my boy.' I told him I could help, since-… since my parents are deaf and I've signed my whole life.

"That's when we really became friends. He invited me into his family, let me help them, let me watch their children grow up with them. You've already heard about Capt. Starrett, the fireman. I-I wanna tell you about Bobby, the loving husband, the caring father, the good friend.

"Maggie, he loved you so much. Every day, he would come in and say the most wonderful things about you. He always called you his love and his beautiful lady and his darling belle. I never even knew your right name for the first two-three weeks 'cause he never used it. He bragged about everything about you: your beauty, your cooking, your kindness… Bobby adored you above everything.

"Ellie, Len… he adored you, too, more than anything. Bobby was always proud of you, in all you did. He brought in your artwork for the station fridge… test papers, too. You were always the best, the brightest, the most well-behaved… and he was right. Ellie, you were his little princess, then his little rocket scientist. Len, you were his precious boy, his young man. He would have done anything in the world for you two, if only to make you happy. You being happy and healthy was all he cared about.

"Bobby Starrett had the-the biggest heart of an-anyone I've ever met," Mike went on, his voice beginning to waver at last, his hands shaking, "He was just the kindest person I knew. I never heard him yell in anger or speak poorly of anyone or turn away anyone in-in need. Bobby-… Bobby was al-always there for you if you needed him, a-a listening ear, a shoulder to lean on or-or cry on, an-and he nev-never judged. He truly meant it whe-when he said he said he-he loved everyone, a-an-and may-maybe that's why it wa-was his heart that gave out… be-because he loved ev-everyone too mu-much-"

A sob caught in his throat, his lip trembling. Knowing his voice wouldn't work, he signed, - _Please remember… I will always be there for you… anything you need, you tell me. I can't replace him, but I can be there._ -

xXxXx

There wasn't a dry eye in the house after Mike's eulogy. Hank's certainly weren't. _I wonder what my friends'll say about me when I'm gone. Certainly won't sound that good._ He watched as Mike and the other pallbearers bore Starrett sedately down the aisle of the church, Mike's face unable to hide his grief. Hank knew how he felt. He'd been in the same position twice before, had to take his friends and brothers to their final resting place. The feeling stuck with you, never forgotten.

He looked down the pew at his men. Roy was his other bookend, his expression resigned sadness, his clear eyes not quite blank. _He's got a family, too. His funeral could be like this, with his widow and children crying in the front pew. It's what mine could look like for that matter._ Funerals like this always hit close to home. Roy was doing his best to keep it together, and he was doing a pretty good job… which was more than he could say for some of his crew. _Not that I can blame them…_

Johnny was sandwiched between Roy and Chet, leaning closer to Roy. He was looking at his lap, his face wet, and Hank could hear him sniffing quietly, saw his shoulders shaking slightly. Maybe he was thinking of what he would say at Roy's funeral should it ever come to that. Hank had done it himself after a close call or a department funeral. It was only natural, really, to prepare for the worst. Roy had a hand on Johnny's shoulder, squeezed gently, leaned in (presumably) to tell Johnny it would be alright; it didn't seem to be working too well.

Chet was next, between Johnny and Marco, and Hank was almost shocked when he turned his attention to him. The young lineman's blue eyes were rimmed in angry red, were brimming with tears. He must have been crying the whole time. Chet looked miserable, utterly miserable, tears still rolling slowly down his cheeks. _What has Chet lived through that he can cry so quietly?_ Hank remembered the young man had been in Vietnam for a time, wondered what he'd seen over there, prayed it hadn't been too horrible. He made a mental note to make sure Chet wasn't left alone following the funeral.

Between Chet and Hank was Marco. Hank thought back to when Marco's grandmother died. The lineman hadn't shed a tear at all through the service, and he hadn't through this one, though his eyes were wet like everyone else's. Hank recalled having a talk with Mike at that time about feeling helpless when someone you loved was grieving. Someone else may not have noticed that Marco's eyes were focused on Mike rather than the open casket, but Hank did. He laid a hand on Marco's forearm, squeezing comfortingly, murmuring, "He'll be alright, Marco… just take care of him, and he'll be alright."

Brown eyes turned to Hank, and Marco chewed his lip briefly, like a question was being asked.

"It's the same advice I gave Mike once," Hank explained.

Marco's gaze went back to Mike, following him down the aisle of the church. The burial wasn't much better. Mike's face was wet when he handed Maggie Starrett the folded flag that had covered her husband's casket. A strange cold gripped Hank's spine, and for a brief moment he saw his own wife weeping and accepting the flag. He shook himself minutely to rid himself of the vision. The cold grip remained despite the August heat.

He carefully cornered Marco before they left the cemetery for the funeral reception. Marco told him quietly, "I just feel so bad, Cap… I-I dunno how to help him, how to make him feel better. Just-… God, he's just hurting so much, and I don't know what to do. I don't like watching him suffer like this."

"He told me about the same thing when your grandmother died," Hank said, "and I'm gonna tell you what I told him. It never feels good when someone you love is suffering and you can't fix it. Trust me. I've been there. Sometimes, all you can do is be there to listen, be a shoulder to cry on, a comforting presence. We were there when it happened, too, which doesn't help. I think we all feel a little guilty, honestly, that we couldn't do more."

Marco sniffed and nodded. Hank whispered, "You just take care of him, and he'll be alright in due time. I know it," as the others approached. Mike rode with Starrett's family. Hank did not like how quiet his sedan was on the way to the reception. He didn't like it at all.

xXxXx

Mike stayed through the whole reception solely out of duty to Maggie and the kids. He didn't want them there alone. Neither Maggie nor Bobby had any family to travel to California for the funeral, only the family they'd made there in the department. _It's my duty. They need me… and maybe I need them, too._ His crew hung close by the whole time, especially Marco.

Marco was a godsend. He kept Mike calm and grounded through the whole horrible ordeal. _He keeps the anger away, keeps me from wanting to do something stupid._ The urge was there even now, the urge to find something to throw or put his fist through, but he forced it down. What was his grief compared to Maggie's, who'd just lost the love of her life, or to Ellie and Len's, when they'd just lost their father? Mike having an outburst of grief here would be rude and ridiculous, the height of impropriety (as his mother would say).

"Mikey, darlin', you alright?"

"I oughta ask you that, Maggie."

"Don't you worry about me none, darlin'," she drawled softly, "I've made my peace with God. I'll tell ya somethin'… just like his namesake, Bobby Lee was fond of Stonewall Jackson, the Confederate general, thought he was a wise and incredible man. Now, he was a religious man, General Jackson, even once said 'My religious belief teaches me to feel as safe in battle as in bed. God has fixed the time for my death. I do not concern myself about that, but to be always ready, no matter when it may overtake me.' He gave himself over to God's will, and my Bobby did the same… and so have I. The kids don't feel quite that way just yet, but I'm hopin' they will one day."

"Why though? Maggie, why was it God's will tha-that his heart give out on a Tuesday? In front of his best friend? Why would God do that?" he asked, trying to keep his voice quiet.

"Why, that's hardly my place to say, for any of us to say. I know it doesn't comfort many folk these days, but I believe God has a plan for all of us, places obstacles and tragedy in our way as a test of strength, a test of faith. It comforts me, which I suppose is what really matters. I'm afraid it's the only way I know how to comfort others, however, whether they appreciate it or not."

Mike said nothing, mixed emotions swirling inside him. Maggie sighed, "I've had his gravestone picked out for years. It will say 'Robert Lee Starrett, Beloved Husband, Father, Friend,' and then have the dates of his life. Then it will say 'Let us cross over the river, and rest under the shade of the trees.' I should think he'd like it. They were General Jackson's last words."

"I think he'd love it, Maggie."

She turned to look at him, saying, "You look so tired, Mikey, darlin'. You go on home. You get that sweet man Marco to take you home and get some rest. We'll be alright."

Thankfully, Marco chose that exact moment to come over. Maggie reached out, telling him, "Marco, honey, you be a dear and take our Mikey home and take good care of him. He deserves a good rest after all this sadness and trouble, I should think. We'll call if we need somethin', Mikey. We'll call even if we don't."

Mike wrapped his arms around Maggie, hugged the children goodbye, promised to come by as often as possible. The rest of the crew had already left. Mike allowed himself to be led out to Marco's car, his body slumped, his feet heavy… his heart heavier. Marco whispered, "It'll be okay, _querido_. We'll just get you to bed, an-and things'll be better in the morning. Not by much, but better. C'mere…"

Something deep inside Mike ached hellishly, ached like it would never stop. It was awful. It made the anger come back. His hands balled into fists, shaking there atop his thighs. If Marco noticed, he said nothing, only keeping his eyes on the road. Maybe it was for the best. Mike was feeling the urge to lash out again. He'd felt rather stupid when he broke the mirror at the station, but he couldn't help it. He doesn't even remember doing it himself, only has memories like he was looking from the outside. He hated that he got so angry when he got upset, hated that he wanted to be violent, wanted to hit things, throw things. He almost wanted to hit Marco if only because he was there.

Marco carefully helped Mike out of his dress uniform, trying to comfort him. The gesture was a nice one, a loving one.

"Do you wanna talk, Mike?" Marco whispered.

"No… no, babe, I-I just wanna sleep. I'm exhausted. It's just been too much lately."

"Do-? Do you wanna hit something again? I understand if you do… and I'd like to be warned in case I'm in the line of fire."

"I don't wanna hit you. Fuck, if I hit you, I would die. I really would. I'd call the cops on myself."

"I know that," Marco said quietly, "but if you get mad enough to punch something, you might not notice I'm in the way, trying to stop you from hurting yourself."

Mike shook his head fervently, telling him, "That's not an excuse, though. Me not knowing I did it still doesn't make it right for me to do, doesn't make it any less bad. God, I could really hurt you and not even know it. Tha-That would really kill me. I-"

Marco shushed him, and Mike realized how frantic his voice had gotten. Rough hands cupped his face, brushed his hair back, gripped his shoulders. Marco explained, "Please… I only mean that I want you to tell me if you feel like hitting something so I can calm you down. If you hit me by accident, then it happens. I know you would never do it on purpose, would never hurt me. Maybe that's why you and Starrett got along so well. You both have the biggest, kindest hearts."

Mike felt his lip tremble, and he wasn't able to stop his tears.

xXxXx

 _Ay Dios, I hope that was the right thing to say._ Marco watched Mike's lip begin to tremble, his expression crumble, tears roll down his cheeks. He carefully coaxed Mike to sit on the bed, their backs to the headboard, and he draped an arm around the strong shoulders, pulling Mike flush to his side. Mike drew in a shuddering breath.

"It's no-not fair," he choked at last, "There are people out the-there who a-are murderers a-and rapists and child-child abusers and just really bad people. Why do they to li-live while Bobby died? Huh? Now, who's gon-gonna be there for his kids? Who's gonna ta-take care of them?"

"We all will, especially you. They're part of our family now, a firefighter's family. You know we take care of our own," Marco whispered soothingly, stroking the bare shoulder under his fingertips.

"We just got back together. We were just gettin' to be like we used to again, an-and just like that, Bobby's gone… died right in front of me."

"It's not an easy thing to see."

"He was li-like my brother… Shit, I loved him like he was my own brother, my own flesh and blood. Now, he-he's gone," Mike whimpered, "I still see it when I close my eyes, Marco. I can see him grab at his chest and fall down and there's not a goddamn thing I can do to save him, just like it was. It's not any better or worse, but even just like it was in real life is horrible enough. It's-… I can't sleep. I've barely slept since he died."

Marco felt a little stab in his gut, asked, "Mike, why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't wan-wanna worry you… didn't want you to worry about me…"

 _How did I not notice?_ He pressed a kiss to the brown hair, telling him softly, " _Mi ángel precioso_ … I wish you would have told me… wish I would have noticed. I've been through the same thing, remember? I watched my brother die, too, right in front of me, with nothing I could do to save him. I know how it feels… and it feels like you're in a nightmare that won't stop, one you can't seem to wake up from."

"When does it stop? I need it to stop."

"It never really stops. It just kinda… fades. It stops feeling like a nightmare, but sometimes the nightmares come back. That's just how it is. Some days are great, and some are really bad. Most days are just… regular days, where you can sorta forget the ache for a while."

Mike still looked ready to break down, had for a few moments now. Marco remembered his own catharsis, remembered how much better he felt after he finally let go. _Maybe it'll be the same for him. Besides, I wanna keep him from breaking anything again… the landlady might rethink waiving our security deposit._ He brushed some hair back from Mike's forehead, kissed his temple, murmured, "I'm right here, Mike… I'm right here with you. Don't be afraid to let go. I'll be here to catch you, I promise."

The engineer leaned in, pressed his face to Marco's shoulder, and started sobbing. They weren't loud sobs, not particularly forceful or harsh. They sounded tired, almost weak. A lump sat in Marco's throat. He brushed some of the tears from Mike's face, but it was futile. His tears just kept coming. _I wish there was more I could do for him, but we've just gotta ride it out._ He held Mike as he cried quietly, shivering against his side.

"You'll be alright eventually, _querido_ ," Marco whispered, "but until then, I'm right here to hold you."

Mike curled up against him, pressing impossibly closer, and Marco tightened his arm around him.


	13. Goodnight and Joy Be With You All

_**Warnings: mild language, mentioned OC death (past), mild ableist language (period accurate)**_

* * *

Christmas off was not a given in a firefighter's schedule. Emergencies did not take Christmas off. There were plenty of calls and traffic accidents and drunk drivers and family disputes to keep any station occupied for the holiday season. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, guys with families would usually try to pick up all the OT they could in order to afford presents for their children, but when the day rolled around, the single guys got their OT, guys like Chet and Johnny and Mike and Marco.

They didn't really mind working Christmas, scheduled or not. Chet had no family, really, and Johnny's family lived rather far away. Marco's family celebrated more on Three Kings' Day in January. Mike's family was fairly flexible when it came to celebrating with him, knowing the high value he placed on his work. Cap and Roy did have their own families to celebrate with, however, so the two of them worked to get the day off and usually succeeded. There was no such luck for Cap this year, but Roy was able to secure a replacement. This Christmas, Johnny (and the rest of 51s) were left to deal with Craig Brice.

Mike rather liked Brice, actually. He didn't quite understand why the guys got so agitated. _Okay, I can kinda see how he gets on people's nerves._ Brice liked to follow rules, to the exact letter, no wiggle room whatsoever. Now, rules were, of course, there to keep everyone safe, but sometimes they needed to be bent a little to fit their needs. For instance, the paramedics were supposed to keep the compartment doors on the squad locked, but the nature of their duties meant it wasn't always best for business. Precious seconds could be wasted by needing to unlock the compartments, so generally they went about their business without locking them. Mike liked Brice, and he hoped the young paramedic didn't have to learn some things the hard way.

He found Brice alone in the dorm while Marco tried to help Chet salvage dinner for that night. The young paramedic was reading a large medical text, likely related to his work but possibly not. He pushed those glasses of his up his nose, shook his head to get his hair out of his eyes, tapped the back cover of his book with his finger in a triplet beat. He seemed younger than he was, with the big glasses and shaggy hair and round face. He was just three months out of paramedic training, just over a year and a half out of the Academy. Johnny had complained about Brice that morning while they were supposed to be making up the dorm because Brice wanted to redo the bunks three times.

"… so I just left him in there. I did what I was s'posed to do. Not my fault he wants to go in and rearrange the whole damn place," Johnny grumped.

Just because Mike understood why others got irritated with him didn't mean he got irritated, though. People thought Brice felt he was better than everyone else, smarter than everyone else, had a holier-than-thou attitude because of it. Mike could see that wasn't the case. He could tell that Brice simply felt that rules were made to be followed and that not following rules had consequences. _There's just something… well, not 'wrong' with him… but different. Yeah, he's just a little different._ Mike kind of knew what that felt like. They were similar to notions people tended to have about him due to his quietness. _Guys used to think I was stuck up 'cause I never liked to join in on the conversations around the dinner table._

"Is there something you require of me, Stoker?" Brice asked, not looking up from his book.

"Not really," Mike shrugged, "I was just tryin' to keep outta Marco and Chet's way. Marco's tryin' to salvage our Christmas dinner. Hopefully, it'll be edible."

"What did Kelly do to render it inedible?"

"Just what he always does. He overthinks it, tries to experiment with ingredients, that sorta thing. Every station has one."

"Has one of what?" Brice queried.

"A guy that probably shouldn't be allowed within ten feet of a kitchen with intent to use it. Anyway, they're in the kitchen, Cap's got paperwork, and Johnny's too grumpy to deal with right now. Hadn't seen you for a while, so I figured I'd look for you and see what you were up to."

"I've just been catching up on some medical knowledge. One can never be too prepared in our profession."

Mike nodded, took a closer look at the book.

"Is-? Brice, is that book in-in German?"

"Yes."

"I didn't know you know German, is all."

"My spoken German isn't quite up to par, but it's a fifth language. My French and Latin are both very good, though my Spanish is rather rough. German is my worst. I can write and read each of them fairly proficiently, however."

"That's still pretty impressive. Gotta say my Spanish is nothin' special, either. Didn't particularly retain Latin too well in high school, but…" Mike paused, cut himself off.

Brice looked at him curiously. _I ought to trust him. Hell, I pretty much told the whole of the fire department at Bobby's funeral…_ The young paramedic blinked, waiting politely and patiently for him to continue.

"Well, when you learn a language from when you're a kid, when two languages are used in the home, that other language is learned just like a native language… 'cause it kinda is."

"What other language was spoken in your home?" Brice asked.

He looked genuinely curious as to what Mike would say next. Mike let the interest build, sitting on Johnny's bunk across from Brice, before finally saying, "Sign language."

Brice cocked his head, asked, "Your parents are both deaf? Or only one?"

"Both."

"Were they both born deaf?"

"My mother was. My dad went deaf in the Navy in WWII, and he's only mostly deaf, has a hearing aid for work, but he doesn't always use it at home and can't hear anything without it."

"That seems dangerous."

"They've always had someone hearing live with them, so that helps."

Brice took a moment to process what Mike told him. After a moment, he nodded.

"Stoker, would you be willing to teach me some sign language that would be useful in the field? If that would make you uncomfortable, you could direct me to a place I could learn from someone else."

"I could try, I suppose. It might be difficult, since we're on opposite shifts, but we could work it out, I think, if you're serious."

"Very serious. Could we start now?"

He looked excited… excited as he could be anyway. Mike shrugged, "I don't see why not. We'll start with the alphabet, just like learning any other language. This way you can always fingerspell what you don't know…"

Brice picked it up quickly, watching Mike do it a few times before attempting it himself. Mike then had him fingerspell a few things, like his name and some longer words.

"It's a little easier to start this way," Mike explained, "Sign language has kind of a funky syntax. There are some little words that get dropped like 'is' and 'be' and 'are'. It makes signing quicker. Instead of saying 'I am a firefighter,' you'd simply sign 'I firefighter.' It's kind of a silly sign, but it works…"

Mike brought his hand up to his forehead, palm flat and facing out, and tapped the back of his hand lightly against his forehead twice, and spoke again, "That's 'firefighter.' There's not a sign for paramedic yet. It's too new."

"Have you considered teaching others in the department useful sign language?"

"No, not really. I didn't really let on that my folks are deaf."

"Are you ashamed of them?"

"Absolutely not. People just get to-… they get different sometimes when they know my parents are deaf. They start to feel sorry for me for dumb reasons, so I stopped telling people. Guys in the department know I can sign now, because I did it at Capt. Starrett's funeral this summer. His son was born deaf."

"I think it would be of great value to the department if one man from each station, preferably a paramedic, would learn a series of simple phrases that would be useful to diagnosis. I can understand your reasons for not wanting to do it yourself, but if you were to facilitate such lessons, it would be helpful, as you know what would be useful in the field."

"That's a really good idea, Brice. I'll definitely think about it some. Say, you took to it pretty quick."

"I like to learn new things and keep busy. I don't like to be bored. I never have. Learning something new was the easiest way to prevent boredom. It kept me out of the way."

Mike opened his mouth to ask what he meant, but the door to the dorm opened, and Marco said, "There you are. I think we managed to save Christmas dinner. Should be ready in a few more minutes. What have you guys been up to?"

Brice blinked and looked to Mike, as if asking permission to tell Marco about their lesson. _Kid knows how to keep secrets, I'll give him that._ Mike told Marco, "Brice and me were just talkin'. He's interested in learning sign language to help in the field."

"Yeah? Is he better than me?"

"He picks it up faster, but you've got more… feeling," Mike said, "Don't take that as a dig, Brice. The emotion comes through in time. I know you'll get there. Here, come help me set the table."

Mike and Brice setting the table turned into Brice setting the table, carefully aligning the plates and silverware until they met his satisfaction. For their parts, Chet and Johnny kept their mouths shut. Maybe the Christmas spirit was getting to them, because usually there would have been at least ten comments directed at Brice by now. Everyone managed to behave through dinner, sharing stories about their families… save for Chet and Brice. Chet had a story or two but was uncharacteristically quiet; Brice was silent altogether. It was odd for Mike to not be the silent one.

Johnny and Brice were toned out toward the end of dinner, along with another squad for some kind of family dispute.

"Don't know how people get into fights this time of year," Chet mumbled, helping Mike clear the table, "You'd think people would be grateful around Christmas, grateful for family, for what they have…"

Mike looked up at him but didn't speak, knew Chet would keep going sooner or later, was unable to keep anything to himself for too long. They took the dirty dishes to the sink and started scrubbing. To Mike's surprise, Chet didn't say anything right away. They scrubbed in silence for a few minutes before Mike finally asked, "What's wrong, Chet?"

"Nothin'…"

"It's something. You've been almost as quiet as me tonight. C'mon, what's wrong?"

He sighed quietly, remained silent for a moment, said in a low voice, "Well… well, I got no family. My parents moved out here from New York right after they got married. My dad died in Korea in '52, when me and my brother were kids, then our mom got cancer in '68 when I was over in Vietnam, so I got discharged on a hardship, 'cause my brother wasn't really any good and he couldn't take care of her. Mom died not long after I got home, and my brother OD'd a year later on heroin."

Chet said it all very matter-of-factly, as if he were commenting on the weather.

"Re-Really? Oh, God… Chet, I'm sorry. That's-… holy shit…"

The young lineman shrugged, saying, "It is what it is. Shit, I can't change it any more than anybody else can. Just sucks though, when I see people fightin' with their families when there's people like me who don't have family or who have really shitty families. People should be thankful to have good family when there's people that don't. That's all."

"Who else here knows all that about you?"

"Nobody- well, I mean, nobody I've told. Cap might. It's all in my file, so if he's read that at all, he'd know. I don't go around mopin' about it, though. Don't want people's pity, is all. I don't need it. Everybody's got struggles in life. What makes mine any worse?" he said.

"Well… well, you've got family now," Mike told him, "We're your family, Chet. You can count on that. It sounds really sappy and stuff, but it's true. Look-… umm, look, I just want you to know that if you ever need to talk about anything, anything heavy, you can talk to me. I keep pretty good secrets."

"Yeah. I know, Mike. I really appreciate it. I mean that. It's just… I hafta make myself do it."

Quiet reigned for a minute or so while they cleaned, until Chet said, "Honestly, Mike, I thought you were gonna try to get today off, too… to spend the day with the Starretts. The first Christmas after a death is always hard."

Mike swallowed, clenched his jaw. He replied, "Yeah, well… I was goin' to… but Maggie said they oughta spend it alone. I can't replace their dad, can't replace Bobby. I don't wanna replace him, and me spending Christmas with them would feel too much like that. Maggie and I thought it would be best. I'll go around in a couple days with some presents for the kids."

"You're probably right. It's probably for the best. Hey, man, I'll finish up here. I wanna keep myself occupied, keep my hands busy. You go chill… find Marco, maybe. I dunno where he got off to."

"Are you sure? I don't mind helping."

"I'm sure. You helped plenty. Get outta here."

Johnny and Brice returned after a long period, both looking a little worse for wear. Brice even had a split lip, and Johnny's expression was particularly grumpy as he stalked into the kitchen. Mike watched Brice slink into the locker room and followed him. The young paramedic was looking at his split lip in the mirror.

"What happened, Brice?"

"There was a family dispute. We were dispatched to it."

"I know that much. What happened to you?"

"It was already a heated situation when we arrived to back up 45s, and this family, the McClellans, were not pleased by our presence nor that of the police. I was treating a young lady of about sixteen when her boyfriend, who was nineteen and burly, apparently took exception to my touching her to administer treatment and hit me. He's currently in jail for assault."

He sighed and began to adjust his rumpled uniform, smoothing out wrinkles and looking for stains.

"Gage seems to think," Brice said after a moment, "I said something to provoke the attack and has asked me to refrain from speaking in the future."

"I don't imagine he did so politely."

"His request was polite given the situation. He did help pull the man off me, as a matter of fact, received some hits in the process. I didn't necessarily require the help, but it was appreciated."

"That's good. I wouldn't wanna have to tell Johnny off for bein' rude."

Brice shrugged, "Again, such an action would be unnecessary but appreciated. I'm quite used to such admonishments. I've been hearing them since childhood."

Just like Chet earlier, he said this matter-of-factly, like he was rattling off a tidbit from his medical book.

"You've got a good story, at least, Brice. Can't beat that, a good story."

Brice said nothing, returned to readjusting his uniform. Mike held back his sigh.

"Anyway," he told the paramedic, "Lights out is in thirty minutes. Lemme know if you need anything."

xXxXx

"So, you and Brice are getting along pretty well," Marco commented on their way home in the morning, "You make a new friend?"

His voice was light and teasing, trying to get a rise but knowing he wouldn't.

"It's just that the guys all kinda gang up on the poor kid, especially Johnny and Chet. I mean, he's a nice kid and a good paramedic. He's just kinda… odd. I just don't want him to feel left out or like he doesn't belong. He doesn't deserve that. I can't imagine he has too many friends."

"I can't imagine he has any friends," Marco mumbled.

"Marco!"

"What?"

"Wanna know what I heard about Brice?" Mike said, turning to look briefly at Marco before looking back at the road, "Hasn't be able to last a full two weeks on one shift, that's what I heard. They shuffle the poor kid around because no one'll take the time to learn to work with him. I know he's weird and difficult to work with, but there's gotta be someone out there with the patience to try. He's practically a permanent replacement. He's only been at 8s two weeks and McCabe already wants him gone."

Marco sighed, "I didn't hear that," and Mike added, "Plus, he got hurt on that domestic disturbance call, and Johnny practically blamed him for it. I get the feeling he's never fit in anywhere."

He looked to Mike. _Always looking for the best in people… always wants to be the best other people look for._ Mike had always been a softie (at least as long as Marco had known him, and previous evidence seemed to back this up), but especially in the last few months, he'd become even kinder. Marco was quite sure it had everything to do with Bobby's death ad him wanting to be the sort of person Bobby was. He already was, of course, but even moreso now. It seemed genuine, too, not a cheap imitation of kindness that asks for praise following a good deed but the sort that performs kindness for kindness' sake alone. Marco was a good person, certainly, but he still had some failings, just like anyone else. He got the feeling Brice would become a sort of project for Mike… and Marco would have no choice but to be a part of it.

"Well, Mike, I think it's good of you to befriend Brice… or try to, anyway. Oh, did you talk to Chet at all this past shift? He seemed kinda down, but he wouldn't talk to me."

"I did, but I don't wanna say anything. He kinda told me in confidence, and while I trust you completely, I don't wanna betray his trust."

Marco nodded. That was fair. He just hoped it wasn't too serious. Chet was a good guy, but he let things eat at him, wouldn't talk about a problem until it became too difficult for him to deal with on his own and usually long after he should've asked for help. He'd stayed with Mike and Marco separately once or twice before. Johnny was his go-to now, having stayed at his place a few times when he was feeling down, and Marco knew Cap had invited him to stay at his place following Starrett's funeral. _I get the feeling Chet'll end up at our place eventually, probably. Guess we'll figure that out when we come to it…_ He turned to look at Mike again as they pulled up to their apartment.

"You're so good, _querido_ ," he said quietly, "Such a good man. Did you know that?"

Color crept into Mike's cheeks, and he replied, "I try to be."

"You succeed… with flying colors. Must be why I got you such a good Christmas present."

"Yeah? Maybe it's why I got you such a good one, too."

The cats were happy to see them and happier to be fed. Once they were occupied, Marco and Mike went into their bedroom, ready to have a nice nap after the shift they had.

"Here, I can't wait anymore," Mike said after they changed into their pajamas, "I want you to open your present now. Close your eyes, babe…"

Marco smirked but obeyed. He felt Mike shift, rising from the bed and returning after a moment, saying, "Okay, you can open them now…"

"Oh, Mike… Mike, it-it's beautiful…"

The gold crucifix was finely wrought, set on a chain that was thin but not delicate. He took it gently from Mike's hands and looked more closely, turning it over to look at the back. Engraved in small letters was the phrase 'En Memoria Cariñosa.'

"Do you like it, Marco?" Mike asked.

"It's perfect. C'mere…"

Marco drew him in for a kiss, saying, "You're perfect, too, Mike… always have been. Lemme go get your present…"

He went to the closet and reached into a coat pocket.

"Here, _querido_. I hope you like it as much as I like this."

Mike carefully opened the box, and his eyes lit up as he pulled out the watch.

" 'To MES- Watch the time, but don't waste it. Love, MAL.' Marco, this- I dunno what to say. This is-… it's wonderful. I love it… almost as much as I love you."

They shared another kiss, sweet and soft and full of love. Marco pulled away before it got too heated, cupping Mike's cheek, and murmured, " _Feliz Navidad, mi cariño_."

"Merry Christmas, Marco."

Marco and Mike curled up in each other's arms and settled in for a nice nap. The next holiday was New Year's Eve, and Mike informed Marco they were invited to a party by his mother.

"Hmm, well, Johnny called while you were in the shower and said he was setting up a get-together at Roy's house with Roy."

"Yeah? And when were you gonna tell me about it?"

Marco shrugged, "Sorry, I was busy makin' breakfast for you."

Mike rolled his eyes, saying, "Well, maybe we could go to Mom and Dad's early and then go to Roy's for midnight."

"That might work. I'll figure out how I'm gonna kiss you at midnight later."

"You might just hafta wait 'til after midnight… though I may be willing to make the wait worth it."

"Maybe not, we have work in the morning, remember?"

"Oh yeah… well, I'll work it out."

The little party at the Stokers' was fun. Mike's nieces were excited by the prospect of being allowed to stay up until midnight, though when Marco and Mike left at ten, the girls were down for the count. Everyone was at Roy's when they arrived.

"Kids in bed, Roy?" Marco asked.

"You kiddin'? They'd be sneakin' down here every five minutes for one thing or another just to be part of the commotion," Roy replied, "They're at Joanne's parents' until Chris has to start school again. Joanne's in the kitchen right now."

"Nope, I'm right here. I need to keep an eye on all you rowdy firemen," Joanne smirked.

"You don't trust me?"

"You, yes. Some of your friends, not exactly…"

Mike snorted softly beside Marco and asked, "So, we miss anything good?"

"Not really. I think everyone here is on tomorrow, so it's not gettin' crazy."

"I think Joanne here would take any one of the guys here down a peg if they did," Marco said.

"You're damn right I would," Joanne replied, "Don't have to worry about you two, though. C'mere, you fellas want a drink? We've got plenty of beer, or I can mix something up for you…"

They just grabbed a couple Budweisers and moved on to mingling. The rest of their shift was there, as well as some guys from other stations Marco recognized, a few he'd worked with. Johnny was loudly recounting the story of the Christmas domestic disturbance he and Brice had been called to, with one of the guys from 45s there to corroborate or deny where applicable.

"Oh come _on_ , Gage!" Rob Pettit said, "It wasn't either three guys that jumped Brice! It was just one, and it looked to me like Brice had a handle on it."

"He did not! That dude walloped him in the face, Pettit! You saw it!"

"Yeah, saw he had a split lip. Already had that guy half-wrestled to the ground, though. You were the one almost got your ass beat by a nineteen year old."

Johnny made a face at Pettit and started another story, presumably one no one else could refute. Mike had made his way over to Cap and his wife Ginny. Marco made the rounds, saying hi to various firemen, belatedly noticing Chet had disappeared from the party. _I saw him when we got here… where could he have gone? He wouldn't leave without saying goodbye…_ Marco finished his beer and went looking for his partner. The younger lineman usually wanted to be the center of attention, wanted to make people laugh at some stupid joke or crazy story. For him to hide out and be quiet was not right. That wasn't Chet Kelly. Marco finally found him outside, sitting on the steps of Roy's deck with a beer. He didn't turn as Marco approached.

"Chet, _manito_ , you okay?" Marco asked quietly, sitting beside him.

He shrugged, said, "Yeah, I'm okay, I guess," continued looking up at the sky.

"You don't hafta lie to us, y'know," Marco told him gently, "We can tell something's wrong. I can tell. You've been down since Christmas."

"Did Mike tell you I talked to him?"

"He said you talked. He didn't say what about. Said he didn't wanna betray your trust."

"Mike's a good guy, that's why. You're lucky to have him. We all are."

"Doesn't explain to me why you're feelin' so down. Honestly, you seemed fine on Christmas 'til Johnny and Brice got that domestic disturbance run… maybe until dinner. Look, we're just worried about you. We care about you, Chet."

"It's just-…" Chet started, wet his lips, continued, "I don't have any family. They're all dead. They have been for a few years, at least. Didn't go all at once, but they're gone anyway. It's just a fact. None of them lived to see me hit twenty-five, and sometimes-… well, it gets kinda heavy, y'know? Times like this, when everyone talks about being with their family and having a good time or arguing with their family and I'm seein' happy families all over the fuckin' place… it can get a guy down."

"I have no idea… no idea what that must feel like."

"Feels like shit… but it's what it is. Like I told Mike, I can't change it, neither can anyone else. No point in mopin' about it, but… but sometimes you can't help it. You're just-… you feel sad, and there's nothing you can do to feel happy."

"Now, I do know what that feels like."

"Yeah, well, right now I'm just havin' trouble feelin' happy. Should pass after the holidays."

He looked at his watch and told Marco, "Midnight approaches. Better get Mike out here. He might be upset if you don't kiss him at midnight."

Marco blinked at Chet, unsure if he heard what he thought he did. Chet let out a small huff of laughter, saying, "I'm not stupid, Marco. I'll send him out for you. I'll even make a distraction for you if you want."

Marco started stammering, "I-I'm- we're not- it's not like-"

"You can't fool me, Marco. Look, I'm happy for you guys. I really am. I'm so glad two people I care about are in love and are just so happy."

"You're not-? It doesn't bother you?"

"Not a bit. Honestly, as long as you still kick ass at work and nobody's bein' hurt, why should it bother me? Now, are you gonna kiss him at midnight or not?"

Chet looked less upset, more determined. Marco asked, "What kind of distraction?"

"I dunno. I'll probably get Johnny all wet or rile him up. That's always fun."

Marco still couldn't quite believe it. He trusted Chet in all things, but he couldn't deny a large part of him was terrified. What if Chet went in and outed both of them, calling everyone to the door to watch them kiss and kick them out of the department? He didn't want to think that of Chet, but plenty of guys who came out to close friends found out they weren't friends after all. This wasn't a risk they could take. Chet sighed, "Look, Marco, I'm an asshole, I'll grant you that, but even I have limits to my assholery. I've lost my whole family. I don't get close to people if I can help it because those people tend to die before their time. Knowin' you two are in love really does make me happy. I would never betray that trust in a million years, could never out you. I swear on the graves of my entire family, I would never do that. I just want you to be happy."

"You-? You mean that? You promise?"

"I promise, Marco."

 _This is too good to be true… but he's not lying. I know he's not lying. I can tell he's serious._ Mike chose that moment to come out onto the patio, asking, "You guys okay? Everything's alright?"

Chet spoke up first, "Yeah, Mike, we're alright. I was just gettin' ready to go back inside. It's midnight in a few minutes… sure nice out here, though… private, too."

He gave them a wink and headed inside.

"What was that about?" Mike asked.

"Chet, uh… Chet knows. About us. He figured it out."

Mike's eyes went wide.

"Are you serious? Is he gonna-? He's not- He wouldn't tell anybody… would he?"

"No, he said he's happy for us, doesn't care what we do in our free time. He's even gonna make a distraction for us so no one will come outside. He, uh, he wanted to be sure I could kiss you at midnight."

"This is a joke, right? It's a joke. You're joking. He's joking, isn't he?"

"Nope, he was dead serious."

Mike's expression was stunned, his eyes blinking and blue in the weak moonlight. A loud yell sounded from inside the DeSoto house, quickly followed by peals of laughter, then cheers as midnight hit. _I think that's our distraction._

"Sounds like Chet's a man of his word," Mike said.

"I never doubted it."

He carefully pulled Mike off to the side, out of view of the patio door. His eyes were bright and beautiful, his features soft, his body warm.

"Well," Mike whispered, "here's to a very happy New Year, babe…"

Mike's lips were also soft and warm… as was the rest of his mouth.


	14. Nothing Like a Good Story

**_Warnings: mild language, mentions of compromising situations, mentions of sexual situations_**

 ** _Just a cute, short chapter to lighten things up a bit. Hope you enjoy the new POV here, as well :)_**

* * *

Marco never put much stock in Valentine's Day. It was a silly holiday, one invented by the card companies and jewelry stores to sell cards and chocolate and flowers and other useless things meant to make up for any and all arguments and indiscretions. _If you love someone, you're supposed to show them every day, not just one or two special days a year._ They got plenty of calls, too, ranging from kitchen fires to fires from too many candles to rescues for people in compromising positions. People somehow got it in their heads they were either porn stars or acrobats (or both). _Me and Mike manage to have plenty of fun without all that crazy, kinky shit._ He shook his head as Roy and Johnny came back with another crazy story.

"…so they're both naked," Johnny explained, somehow looking incredibly done with everything and amused all at once, "Now, the guy is handcuffed to bed, and I mean handcuffed good. He's complainin' his shoulders hurt. They looked like they hurt. That was not a good angle to be handcuffed in. Meanwhile, the girl has a dislocated jaw, which I dunno how that happened-"

"It's called a blowjob, Gage," Chet piped up, eliciting laughter from the others.

"Well, I'm aware of that, Chet, I'm only sayin' I dunno how it happened 'cause the male patient wasn't exactly endowed, if you know what I mean. I don't make a habit of lookin' at guys' dicks, but as a paramedic, man, I have seen some shit."

"And dicks, apparently."

"More than anyone would ever want to."

"I dunno, babe, there's some pretty kinky people out there."

Roy told Chet, "Even the kinkiest people would be horrified by some of the things we've seen."

" _Anyway_ ," Johnny continued, trying to finish his story, "the female patient has a dislocated jaw, so we're not gettin' any info outta her. We ask if they know where the handcuff keys are. She nods and we ask her to get 'em for us. She shakes her head this time. Now, me and Roy are pretty confused, but Roy asks where the keys are. Would y'all like to know exactly where those keys were?"

A moment of silence reigned before dawning realization crept up on Marco and everyone else. He and Mike both blurted, "She didn't…" as Chet half-yelled, "Oh my God! She didn't!"

"She did. So, me and Roy get the cutters to remove the handcuffs and took both of 'em to the hospital. Early damn near had a fit after they left the treatment room. Dixie actually came in to make sure he was okay. It was pretty funny."

"He said he couldn't help it," Roy added, "Said- and you're not gonna believe this- said just a couple hours before, 16s brought in someone that had, I shit you not, had an empty Coke bottle shoved up his ass."

"How in the hell did he manage that?" Cap asked.

"According to Early, he said he fell on it."

"Fell on it?"

"Apparently, it's a common excuse."

Cap looked disbelieving and confused and concerned all at once as he said, "I never knew enough people went to the hospital with things stuck up their ass for there to be a common excuse for it."

Marco and Mike snorted. Johnny and Roy were called out alone a few more times until about midnight when the station was toned out to a possible house fire. 51s was the first to arrive. Marco couldn't see any smoke or the glow of any flame. The lights came on downstairs, and the front door opened, revealing a man in a bathrobe waving them over. Cap heaved a sigh and called dispatch to return all other units. They all went up to the door, if only to see what had happened now. _This better be good…_

The man who answered the door was middle-aged and somewhat paunchy, his thinning hair still askew. He clutched at his bathrobe, stammering, "Well, I-I don't know what to say. It's all-all so very embarrassing. I mean- the fire department-… I'm not the one who called-"

"I called them Harold, you-you nincompoop! You imbecile!" a voice screeched from upstairs.

"That-that's my wife, Eleanor."

"Ma'am, do you need help?" Roy called up.

"You're darn right I do! Oh, please hurry!"

Johnny and Roy went upstairs, followed by Harold and the rest of the crew. Harold was still stammering but not making full sentences or saying anything useful. The bedroom was littered with candle stubs, Eleanor sitting on the bed in a robe of her own, complaining loudly.

"… this kook with his 'romantic' candlelight!" she stated, "Sure, it was nice at first, looked nice paired with flowers and rose petals, but that was before he nearly set me on fire! Put one of the damn things too close to the bed! We're lucky the whole house didn't burn down!"

"Could you tell us what happened, ma'am?" Cap asked.

"My hair caught fire, that's what happened!" she howled, "Burned me right to the scalp!"

Chet actually excused himself before he could laugh out loud. Marco had to bite his lip to keep from laughing, and Mike had cracked a smile.

"Would you like us to call an ambulance, ma'am?"

"Well, I dunno if we'll need an ambulance, Cap," Roy said, "but ma'am, you should a see a doctor as soon as you can. You do have a burn on your scalp that looks pretty nasty. Johnny and I can treat it here and you can see your family doctor in the morning, or we can take you to the hospital in the ambulance and you can see a doctor tonight."

"Oh, I think I oughta go to the hospital. It's really starting to hurt, and besides, I'll hardly be able to sleep tonight, anyway. I'll have to go to my hairdresser tomorrow and figure out to cover up this new bald spot I've been given. Dammit, Harold, of all the stupid things..."

Johnny walked up to Cap and spoke quietly, "I think you're good to go, Cap. Just gotta wait for the ambulance now and get Mrs. Evans here to Rampart."

"If Dr. Early's still there, he'll love this one," Marco said.

"Yeah, this is pretty good… but it's not a Coke bottle in the ass," Cap replied.

Marco nearly choked on his own spit trying not to laugh. Mike had to pretend his snort of laughter wasn't laughter. The three of them left quickly, meeting Chet outside.

"I-I'm sorry, Cap," Chet said, "but I had to get outta there before I got in trouble. That was too funny. I mean, it's not a dislocated jaw from a blowjob or handcuff keys where they're not supposed to be, but holy shit, that was still funny."

"I dunno how Roy and Johnny are gonna make it through this one," Mike added.

"Alright, c'mon, let's all get back to the barn… let's go turn in, fellas…"

xXxXx

Truthfully, Joe Early loved working the big holidays. He had no family to spend them with, so really, he might as well spend them working and helping people. Plus, the holidays always brought in the best stories. Valentine's Day usually had some of the best. _I've removed more foreign objects from more orifices below the belt than anyone else in this hospital, I think._ Joe was the one with the reputation for being able to remove body parts from where they didn't belong and objects from where they didn't belong. More often than not, it was a kid with something stuck up their nose or in their ear. Adults were definitely more interesting.

The call from 51s was an interesting one, to be sure: a man handcuffed with pain and tenderness in his shoulders, a woman with a dislocated jaw, and the handcuff keys apparently somewhere in the woman's vaginal canal. _I sure hope they were gonna remove the keys before having sex._ He got the feeling that would have quickly become uncomfortable for both of them, though much moreso for the lady. Thankfully, Dixie was already there with him, though he eagerly looked forward to sharing this one with Kel. Joe finally burst into laughter when Dixie escorted the couple out of the room, coming back in to check on him and laughing herself

"Dix, I just don't know if people are ever gonna learn to stop putting things where they don't belong."

"This doesn't beat the Coke bottle in the ass, does it?"

Joe snorted, said, "I don't think anything can ever top that one. Still, this is better than that time I removed a pool ball from that sergeant's mouth in Korea. That's at least a clean story I can tell at nice parties."

"Didn't think you ever got invited to nice parties," she smirked.

"You wound me."

"Aww, I'm sorry to hear that. How 'bout a nice cup of coffee? Will that soothe the wounds?"

"I'm not sure. They're pretty deep. I may never recover," he pretended to sulk.

Dixie made a show of pouting and patted him on the cheek, saying, "Well, I'll do what I can. C'mon, Joe."

If anyone was aware of the nature of the rumors surrounding Joe and Dixie, it was Joe and Dixie. The two of them had met about twenty years before while working at a MASH unit, the 8063rd. (They still giggled whenever it was mentioned on that new sitcom.) Dixie was just about a year out of nursing school, and Joe was fresh from his residency. He'd been drafted because, according to a higher up, he was a 'staggeringly good' neurosurgeon, and they needed more brain surgeons to go with their chest cutters. Nine times out of ten, the head injuries were too severe for him to be of any use, but that one in ten made it feel worthwhile. He needed to look on the bright side, after all, or he's sure he would've gone insane.

Dixie McCall had been invaluable to him. They were both young and scared and maybe a little innocent. They believed in things like a 'cause' and a 'good war,' still cried after every marathon session of meatball surgery, still cheered themselves up singing rowdy songs in the Officers' Club with a tinny piano that wasn't quite tuned right. They had to keep from going crazy, and they helped each other do that.

Joe didn't particularly care what others thought about them. He and Dixie were never romantically inclined. They'd tried kissing before, in Korea, but it always felt silly and ended in bouts of laughter. He felt drawn to her nonetheless, drawn to her kindness, her strength, her will, her beauty. She drew everyone to her in the same way, like the proverbial light in the darkness. No one was immune to her charms, male or female, young or old, American or Korean, regardless of race or religion. Another woman may have used that to an unfair advantage, would have had her way with people, but not Dixie. No, she was kind and sweet to everyone she met… unless they gave her reason not to be.

Together, they survived Korea, then came to LA to work for this hospital. They hadn't left, and things hadn't changed, except perhaps for the better. They had plenty of new friends in the fire department, especially the guys at 51s. Joe didn't like to play favorites, of course, but he was very fond of Roy and Johnny and the rest of their crew. There was just something about them, about the fact that they were good paramedics but didn't brag up and down. They didn't act like they were perfect but also didn't second-guess every move they made. Dixie often likened them to the field medics they knew in Korea. There was still a front line for them to be behind.

"You ever feel like you missed out, Joe?" Dixie asked quietly.

"Missed out on what?"

"On what everyone wants, what they think a normal life is," she replied, "Y'know, getting married, settling down, making a family, all that jazz?"

He shrugged, told her, "Not particularly. My dream was always to be a doctor, a great one, and I like to think I succeeded. None of that other stuff was ever really part of the plan. I have settled down, though, right here in LA, right here at Rampart. And I do have a family of sorts. I've got you and Kel, got the paramedics, guys like Roy and Johnny."

"Yeah, I suppose that's true."

"Also, from what I recall, I asked you to marry me just after we left Korea. You told me it wouldn't be fair."

"I was right. Neither one of us was ready. We were fresh outta the Army, fresh out of a war. We both decided, from what I recall, that we weren't able to give the other what they needed, not then."

"It was a mutual agreement, now that I remember correctly. What if I asked you again? Now?"

She smirked, "I guess I could think about it," and sipped her coffee. Joe chuckled.

"Not sure what I would ever do without you, Dix."

"Well, I guess we can thank the Army for putting us together."

He chuckled again, shaking his head and lifting his mug in mock salute.

"To the goddamn Army."

"To the goddamn Army," Dixie agreed.

They clinked mugs and tried to finish their coffee before being called to the next emergency.

xXxXx

"I swear, the shit we see on Valentine's Day makes me never wanna have sex again," Mike said when he and Marco returned to their apartment, "Almost makes me wanna live a quiet, celibate life."

"I hope you mean that 'almost.' I'm not sure I'd be able to handle a quiet, celibate life."

"Even if it was with me?" Mike pouted.

"With you? I think I could do it… only because it's you, and I love you."

Marco leaned in, pressing his lips to Mike's gently, and Mike hummed happily at the kiss. Neither one of them was particularly fond of Valentine's Day, so they hadn't made any real plans for day after. Valentine's Day was usually fairly chaotic, so they both assumed they'd need to sleep. _We managed to get a couple hours in the rack, so I'm not ready to pass out. Could still use some sleep, though…_ He butted his forehead up against Marco's, hummed again, was struck with a good idea.

Mike carefully rearranged their limbs, holding one of Marco's in his own, placing the other on Marco's waist. He began to hum once more, this time following a tune. They swayed slowly there in their living room. Marco wore a warm smile.

"Hmm… 'As Time Goes By'… good choice, _querido_."

"It's one of my favorites," Mike replied, "I thought you might enjoy it… enjoy the dancing…"

"Oh, I do. I like this very much… I like you very much, too… Here, sing me some more."

Their foreheads pressed together again. Mike started to hum, but Marco murmured, "No, _cariño_ , sing. I wanna hear your voice."

"I'm not very good."

"I don't care. I love your voice."

Mike smiled softly, heat creeping into his face, and sang quiet and low, " _You must remember this/ A kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh/ The fundamental things apply/ As time goes by…_ "

Nothing could have possibly been more perfect than this moment. Comfortable warmth settled in Mike's belly, radiated out into his limbs, buzzed calmly at the base of his skull. Marco's hand felt like it was made for his. Their bodies were flush. _I could do this forever, could be just like this with him forever._

"I think I'll have you sing me to sleep every night," Marco murmured, "I'm ready for a nice long nap, I think."

"Yeah, you look ready for a nap. C'mon, let's go to bed, babe… if you can make it that far."

"You might hafta carry me in."

"Wouldn't be too graceful. I am a fireman, after all."

"Gonna throw me over your shoulder?"

"If it comes to that. Don't want you passin' out in the hallway."

Marco laughed quietly. They changed into their pajamas and climbed into bed, curling up around each other. Mike pressed a kiss to Marco's forehead, his nose, his lips. Marco hummed happily, sleepily. _Oh yes… I want to do this forever, want to be with him forever._ The thought was not as terrifying as it should have been.


	15. Day of Happiness

_**Warnings: strong sexual content, strong language**_

* * *

Marco and Mike had a bit of a conundrum. They'd had the discussion multiple times, but finally, they came to a good decision as to when their anniversary was. Should it have been when they moved in together? Their first kiss? The first time they said they loved each other? They couldn't exactly go out on dates like a straight couple, unless it was somewhere two bachelors would conceivably go together. After a fairly short debate, they both agreed their anniversary should be that of their first meeting at 51s. That moment had been the real game changer, the moment they first knew nothing would be the same.

"I mean, it makes as much sense as anything," Marco offered, "It's a date we both remember."

"Well, I remember the date for all those other things, too, if that's the only criteria you want."

"It's not, but-… well… that was the beginning. We wouldn't have any of those other things if we never met."

"Yeah, I suppose that's the truth."

"So, did we settle it, _querido_? Do we have an anniversary?"

"March 20th, it is… our anniversary. Comin' on three years now."

"Some people would call this commitment."

"Wouldn't you?"

"Definitely. I'm here for as long as you want me, Mike," he said quietly.

Something in Mike's face changed, softened. He took Marco's hand in his own and told him, "Then I hope you're prepared to be here for a long time."

"That's the plan."

Warmth flowed along Marco's veins, hummed under his skin, fluttered in his heart. He leaned in and kissed Mike languidly, only pulling away briefly to whisper, "I love you so much," before kissing him again. He took Mike's face in his hands, hearing a quiet, "I love you, too," in response. His mouth was warm and had the taste of black coffee, his lips slightly chapped and wonderfully pliant under his. A big hand slipped up under Marco's shirt to settle against his side, fingers splayed over his ribs like Mike was counting them. Marco smirked against his lips. Contentment washed over him in waves. _Yes, I'm gonna be here for a long time._

xXxXx

Mike and Marco agreed that no gifts were necessary for their anniversary. Neither of them needed anything, and it was enough for both of them to celebrate birthdays and Christmas with little gifts. Plus, it was still rather bizarre to Mike to be celebrating an anniversary at all. He never really expected he and Marco would last this long. Certainly he'd hoped they would, but it hadn't been an expectation. Sometimes, guys would have little flings with other guys but then settle down with a woman, because that was what was expected of them.

Instinctively, he knew Marco was different. He knew Marco loved him, knew he would really be there for the long haul, but still… a guy had a right to be a little surprised. After all, what he knew instinctively was not what his brain told him. His brain told him to worry, to wonder, to analyze, and it was his brain he listened to more often than not. He preferred listening to his brain. Logic was sound and useful. When he got emotional, those emotions got the better of him. He would get too sad, too angry, too excited. He needed to control those emotions and listen to what his brain and its training were telling him to do.

Marco brought out his emotions, though, but in a good way. Mike never felt too much with Marco, was never overwhelmed by what he felt emotionally. If he did, Marco was able to calm him, to make him feel right again. It was perfect, really.

March 20 rolled up on them in due time, and Mike was ready for it. He and Marco planned to spend the whole day at home in their apartment, and they did. They started by sleeping in and then making breakfast for lunch, and lounged about, just relaxing in each other's company, passing a calm day with the cats. _This is nice. I like this very much._ Marco surprised him by making dinner for the two of them, delicious Mexican tacos on fresh tortillas, full of flavor and spice.

"You're good-looking and you can cook," Mike commented after dinner, "You make a fine catch."

"It's what I've been told. I could always hear it more often, though."

Marco was lounging on the couch, and the sight was simply too tempting. _He surprised me with food. I think it's my turn to surprise him._ Mike wasn't typically the one to initiate sex, not because he didn't enjoy it but because it wasn't the most important thing to him. Certainly there were days when Mike felt pretty horny and wanted to be fucked, but overall he let Marco take the lead. He rather liked being told what to do, honestly, though he'd had his moments where he wanted to tell Marco what to do. That was kind of fun, and he'd be lying if said he didn't enjoy it. Still, given his druthers, he preferred bottoming… and there was something he wanted to try.

Mike sauntered over to the couch where his lover sat, watching as the other man smirked and began to spread his legs. He carefully climbed up and straddled Marco. Both their cocks were showing definite interest in the proceedings, easily felt as they pressed together. Mike rolled his hips, watched Marco's eyes darken with lust, felt the other body heat up beneath him.

"Is this a rem-reminder of what a fine catch I am?" Marco asked.

"Yeah," Mike replied, rolling his hips again, "Wanted to do something nice for you, babe… something we, uh, we haven't done before. It's not crazy or super kinky… just different."

"What is it?"

"Can I-? Can it be a surprise? I wanna surprise you," Mike whispered, leaning in and brushing his lips over Marco's, "I know you'll like it. Please?"

Marco's hands rested on Mike's hips.

"Of course, _querido_. I trust you. Surprise me."

Mike smiled and leaned in again, ghosted his lips over Marco's mouth, not quite touching. Excitement crackled between them. Anticipation buzzed in the air around them like electricity around a transformer. This was almost Mike's favorite part, the slow build, the anticipation of foreplay, imagining the pleasure to come. Getting Marco riled up was all part of the fun. Their noses brushed. Marco's breath hitched quietly. Every part of them was pressed together but their lips, the rise and fall of their chests pulling them apart and bringing them closer. Their breath mingled in that scant space between them. Marco finally tilted his head.

Their lips met. Mike inhaled sharply through his nose, obediently parting his lips when Marco licked over them, asking for entrance. He didn't demand, but even if he did, Mike would have quickly acquiesced. Marco's tongue could do some downright sinful things when he put his mind to it. He licked his way around Mike's mouth, exploring, tasting, pleasuring. Marco's hands slid up Mike's torso under his shirt. Mike continued to rock against his lover, caught his lip between his teeth, sucked on it. The action pulled a moan from Marco's throat, his hips jerking up against Mike's, nails digging into his sides. Mike carefully pulled back and pulled off his t-shirt, tossing it aside.

Marco leaned in, lips trailing over the column of Mike's throat. Neither said a word. They didn't need to. Love was evident in every movement, every touch of lips, every graze of teeth. Marco kissed down to Mike's chest and tilted his head, his tongue flicking out a nipple. Mike whimpered at the contact. His hands gripped Marco's shoulders tight, fingers pressing hard into the muscles there. Marco moved his lips up near Mike's collarbone and bit the sensitive flesh just below it. Mike gasped loudly, his hips jerking forward as Marco sucked a bruise into his skin.

He took Marco's face in his hands and kissed him passionately before shifting his weight. Skilled hands quickly divested Marco of his t-shirt, pulling it up over his head and tossing it to join his own. He trailed his mouth down Marco's torso, delighting in the breathy moans above him, and settled himself between Marco's legs, kissing the inside of his thigh. A warm hand gripped Mike's hair gently. Marco gasped when Mike mouthed his cock through his shorts.

"I see how you hold back when I blow you," Mike whispered finally, "Your hips get so tight from trying not to fuck my mouth. Tonight… tonight you can. If it's too much, I'll let you know. I just want you to feel good… want you to feel so fuckin' good…"

Marco gave a soft whine as Mike pulled down his shorts, his cock springing free, resting against his belly. The shorts joined the t-shirts in their pile. Mike looked over what he had just revealed, licked his lips, and got to work. He returned to the thigh, kissing his way to Marco's groin. He started with his balls, pulling them into his mouth one at a time, sucking and swirling his tongue. From there, he licked a slow, hot stripe up the shaft of Marco's cock. Muscular thighs shivered on either side of him. Marco's eyes were dark and lidded. _Perfect… beautiful…_ He pressed a kiss to the head, precome damping his lips.

He briefly held Marco's hips still as he swallowed him to his base. Marco cried out, looked as though every muscle in his body tensed, tightened his grip on Mike's hair. Mike's cock twitched at the feeling of his hair being pulled, at the slight pain in his scalp. He let go of Marco's hips and pulled back from the base of his cock, working his tongue around the head, gathering the heady, salty taste of precome. Marco's hips jerked up. Mike relaxed his throat and jaw, allowing Marco's cock to slide in more easily. He pressed his tongue along the underside, enjoyed the smooth weight of his lover's cock on his tongue. If someone had told Mike even two years ago he would not only be great at giving head but would enjoy it, he would've thought them crazy. _Yet here I am…_ Marco's hips rolled again, the head of his dick nearing the back of Mike's throat.

After a minute or two, pulled his mouth off Marco's cock with a purposefully wet pop, pressed another kiss to the head. Marco was looking wrecked. Mike's cock twitched again. He rose from his knees and tugged down his shorts, stepping out of them and climbing up to straddle Marco once more, lining up their cocks and rocking his hips. Mike hunched over, nuzzled at the brown throat, kissed his way up to Marco's lips. He whispered, "I want you to fuck me, babe… right here… just like this…"

"You-? You wanna ride me?"

"More than anything."

"Holy fuck… you sure know just what to say… you wanna get the lube and condom?"

Mike leaned over and opened a small drawer in their end table, pulling out a small bottle. Marco smirked, "Aren't you well-prepared… you do that earlier, _querido_?"

"I'm always prepared when I have a good plan, but… I-I only brought out the lube… not a condom."

Brown eyes blinked up at him. Heat bloomed across Mike's chest and up into his face. He wet his lips nervously, and quietly told Marco, "I-I wanna-… I want you to fuck me without a condom. We're both safe. We've only been having sex with each other, and we've used condoms every time. Just… just- I wanna feel you. I thought you might like it."

"I do. I do like it," he replied, "It makes me so happy to know you trust me enough to wanna do this with me. God, you make me so happy, Mike."

Mike smiled as Marco said that and leaned in to kiss him. He pulled back to prepare Marco, putting the lube on his hands to warm it up before beginning to slick up Marco's cock. Marco groaned at the slow, gentle strokes, his head dropping back onto the couch. Mike kissed along his jaw and the line of his throat. He rose to his knees, took Marco's cock in his hand, carefully positioned it at his hole. Marco held him about the waist as he slowly lowered himself, moaning at the familiar intrusion. It felt different without a condom, felt more intimate. Mike felt so full and whole he wanted to cry.

Their lips met again in a passionate kiss as Marco gave him time to adjust, probably needing the time himself, their tongues sliding together, teeth occasionally clicking. After a long moment, Marco rolled his hips, and both men gasped against the other's mouth. He bit his lip at the feeling of Marco's bare cock moving inside him. He rocked his own hips this time, bracing himself by holding Marco's shoulders. Marco met him with shallow thrusts, doing as best he could under Mike's weight. Mike tilted his head back, allowing Marco access to his throat. Teeth and tongue and lips trailed over his sensitive flesh. Mike's cock hadn't been touched yet, but he was sure he was going to cum without it happening.

Mike shifted his position, working to ensure Marco's dick would hit his prostate as often as possible. He moaned wantonly. Pleasure sparked up his spine and thrummed at the base of his skull. He and Marco were both panting and groaning, their foreheads pressed together, their eyes locked. Occasionally, their lips brushed, but their attention was solely focused on the other, focused on their lovemaking, on making the other feel good. Mike could feel his orgasm building as his pace became more erratic.

" _Corazón_ … Mi-Mike… Mike, I-I'm gonna-gonna cum… so close-…"

"Do it… Babe, cum for me… wa-want you to cum-… cum inside me, Marco…"

Marco's hands slid down to grasp at his hips, holding tight as he thrust up into Mike a few more times. He cried out as he came, and Mike almost sobbed at the feeling of being filled. He could feel Marco's cock pulsing through his orgasm, could feel the cum hot inside him. It was incredible. He rolled his hips more, felt his own orgasm building, felt himself on the precipice.

xXxXx

Mike was beautiful and flushed above him, ready to cum. He was riding Marco's cock, his hole now slick with lube and cum. Only a few seconds later, Mike shuddered and cried out, making a sound somewhere between a shout and a sob. His whole body shivered as he shot hot cum over Marco's chest, his body clenching around Marco's softening cock, almost making him hard again. Mike collapsed against him. Their chests were heaving. Marco brought his hands up to Mike's face, pulling him away from his shoulder to look at him.

" _Mi ángel_ , what's wrong?" Marco asked softly, "Are you okay?"

The blue eyes he so loved were wet with tears. Mike smiled and replied, "Nothing's the matter. That's just it. Everything's perfect, so perfect. God, I love you so much, Marco…"

A tear slipped down Mike's cheek, and before Marco could wipe it away, Mike leaned in and kissed him slowly.

" _Te amo, mi ángel… mi querido_ ," he murmured against Mike's lips.

He brushed another tear from Mike's cheek, smiling softly. _Happy anniversary to us, indeed…_


	16. The Course of Life Never Did Run Smooth

_**Warnings: some strong language, deaths as a result of fire, PTSD**_

 _ **I did my absolute best to research what having a flashback feels like and what it feels like afterward. I know not everyone's reactions would be the same, but this scenario seemed to crop up often enough to make it feel common.**_

 _ **A/N: After the next chapter, I will be going on a short hiatus, the length of which is still TBD. I've been a little busier than usual lately and haven't had as much time to write as I like. Going on hiatus for a bit will allow me time to write some more and do a little more plotting. Thank you so much for being so wonderful and understanding.**_

* * *

"Alright, fellas, it's Fourth of July, and we all know what that means," Cap stated during roll call, "There's gonna be more than enough calls between the firecrackers and burning barbeques and drunk people and kids almost blowin' their hands off. Roy, Johnny, I'm sure you'll get the lion's share of the calls today, so be ready. Now, the duty roster-"

The tones dropped for the squad, man struck by a vehicle.

"So it begins," Roy said, hustling over to the squad with Johnny.

Chet watched them go, knowing they would have a busy day. It was never going to be a slow one when the first call came so early in the shift, especially on a major holiday. _We're gonna be busy today, that's for sure. C-shift is gonna have a messy station tomorrow._ Chet at least didn't get stuck with latrines today, though if Johnny was too busy on runs, someone would have to do latrines in his stead, anyway. He was hoping he'd be able to charm Mike or Marco into doing them so he wouldn't have to. After all, it wasn't entirely his fault he was always the last one in. He didn't try to be, and he was never late.

The engine was soon toned out to a trash fire, and that was it. If they all spent more than fifteen minutes together at the station at a time, Chet would be amazed. They barely had time to use the bathroom. Lunch was subs they could quickly scarf down in the apparatus, knowing the next call wasn't far off.

"Y'know, cops can call into their dispatch for a lunch break," Chet commented after their hurried sandwiches and third grill fire, "Why can't we do that, huh? Seems a 'lil unfair, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, well, that's 'cause the cops need a break from riding around in their cars all day," Marco chuckled.

Johnny snorted, the paramedics finally meeting up with their shiftmates for a brief moment since their first call that morning. Both looked a little worse for wear, and Roy told them he'd already been through one uniform shirt when a patient vomited blood on him.

"I just wanna know why people are so obsessed with puttin' things up their ass," Johnny commented, much to the amusement of Chet, Mike, and Marco, "I'm sick of goin' on rescues and havin' to take some dumb kid to Rampart 'cause he had a firecracker shoved up his ass."

"Really?" Mike asked, "People really do that?"

"Oh, that was just the first one today. I guarantee we'll get five more calls like that today, of kids damn near burnin' their nuts off for a few laughs. I bet Early's havin' a field day…"

Chet laughed, sharing a quick glance with Mike and Marco. Cap's H/T beeped, " _Station 51, unknown type rescue…_ "

"Probably just some idiot with a firecracker up his ass," Johnny mumbled.

Thankfully, it wasn't that, just a little kid who sprained her wrist when she fell off her bike and managed to get her arm stuck in the storm drain. Once they got her free, the engine was sent to another call on its own, some kind of alarm that turned into a first alarm call. _We're goin' almost nonstop… dunno how Johnny and Roy do it all the time._ It wasn't as exhausting as some of the brushfires he'd been on, but Chet was definitely beginning to feel it.

"It's a good thing we've got four days after this," Mike said during a brief lull, "I think I'm gonna sleep for all of 'em."

Everyone agreed. After nightfall, the frequency of calls increased, especially for the squad, until 51s was called out to a first alarm structure fire near midnight. The scene was chaos when they arrived. A crowd was milling close by, probably the remnants of a block party. 127s directed them in.

"Hank, we've got the second floor fully involved, and we think the first floor may go soon-"

A woman screamed as Chet and Marco brought their line around, and Chet's heart sank. He waited for the imminent orders.

"Chet! Marco! Cover Roy and Johnny! We have a report of children possibly trapped on the second floor! Go!"

Johnny and Roy stepped into the spray of their line, though he and Marco struggled to keep up. The air was thick with smoke, and Chet swore he smelled spent black powder. Something rolled in his stomach, crept up his spine, buzzed at the front of his skull. _No, not now… please, not now_ … He swallowed, tried to force down the steeply growing hopelessness and dread. Marco must have sensed something because he tapped Chet on the shoulder, indicating he was ready to switch to the lead, and Chet was incredibly grateful. He shook his head minutely, staring through the smoke as Johnny and Roy checked the rooms upstairs. _They'll come back with those kids or won't find anyone at all. Kids are probably at a friend's house or somethin'…_

The paramedics came hurrying back toward the stairs, each carrying a small body that was limp and burnt. Like the flicker of film, images from nearly five years before were superimposed over the present, bunkers briefly replaced by BDUs, the roar of flames spotted with gunfire, constant heat trading places with cloying humidity. He shook his head again, felt his body tensing, wanted to be rid of this horrid feeling. The air in his bottle and mask wasn't quite enough. He quickly shook his partner, calling, "Marco, I need to get outta here! Get me out!" before it became too much. He was freezing up, could feel his muscles going tight. _No… no no no, please, no… not again…_

xXxXx

"Marco, I need to get outta here! Get me out!"

He didn't need to be told twice, especially not with the way Chet shook him, not with the fear evident in his voice. _Is he hurt? Was he injured somehow? Is his air malfunctioning?_ Chet was stumbling as Marco helped haul him out, felt stiff and tense. Once outside, Chet pushed Marco away and ripped off his helmet and air mask, staggering toward the engine.

"What happened, Marco?" Cap asked worriedly, "Is Chet alright? Was he wounded?"

"I-I dunno, Cap. He just-… He kinda tensed up when we were inside, so I switched off for the lead. Then, when Roy and Johnny brought the kids down, it got worse. That's when he shook me and begged me to take him out."

"Go check on him, will ya? I'll get another team on containment."

Marco quickly followed Chet, passing Roy and Johnny as they uselessly treated the children. Mike was already there, though as soon as Marco stepped around, he returned to his panel, needing to keep an eye on the pump as another team used their line. Chet was sitting on the ground, knees drawn up to his chest and his arms around them, his face white. He rocked slightly, squeezed his eyes shut, was completely silent. Unsure of what else to do, Marco carefully pulled off his air bottle and sat beside Chet on the ground. A couple of minutes passed before Chet picked up his head, letting out a long, slow breath. Marco wet his lips and asked softly, "Are you okay, Chet? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine. I'm not hurt," he sniffed, "I just-… I dunno what happened…"

 _I don't quite believe that._ Marco asked, "Are you sure? Cap might ask you to go to Rampart and get checked out."

"He saw me?"

"Yeah, when we came out."

Chet sighed deeply.

"Honestly, Chet," Marco told him, "It would make me feel a lot better if you went to Rampart."

"Do I hafta? Will I hafta ride in the ambulance with those kids?" he asked, his eyes wide and wet and more than a little fearful.

"No, I think someone'll be able to take you in the squad, either me or Roy or Johnny. Will you be okay if I leave you here with Mike for a minute?"

Chet nodded, so Marco got to his feet and found Johnny.

"Is there an ambulance comin'?"

Johnny replied quietly, "Yeah, but they're not rushin'. Kids were dead when we got to 'em, just need a doctor to declare 'em in person."

"One of you gonna ride in?" Marco asked.

"I am. I don't want Roy around this any longer'n he has to be. Why? I saw you help Chet out. Is he Code I? Does he need help?"

"I-… I'm not sure, Johnny. He kinda… freaked out inside the house, asked me to get him out, but he won't tell me what happened. Says he doesn't know what, but I'm callin' bullshit. I would certainly feel better if he went to Rampart, maybe have Dr. Early look him over."

"Sure, he can ride with Roy in the squad. Who's with him now?"

"Mike's there."

"Alright, you go back to him, and I'll send Roy over in a minute."

"Is he alright?"

Johnny sighed, "Not really, no," and walked away, heading for his partner. Marco felt a stab of grief but pushed it aside. _Now isn't the time._ The sounds of chaos still reigned over the scene: roaring flames, gushing water, shouted orders, people yelling and crying. Marco sighed and returned to Chet. He found Mike fussing over the young lineman in the way that he did, not overtly fussing but hovering and keeping close.

"Well, Johnny's gonna take those victims into Rampart, and Roy's gonna take you in the squad once Johnny's all set," Marco explained, "I'll sit with you 'til then, okay?"

Chet nodded. He looked exhausted. Mike had at least moved him to the running board, but the lineman was shivering despite the July heat, occasionally pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes or rubbing a spot near his temples just above his eyebrows. _I wish he would just tell me what happened._ Marco sat next to Chet on the running board and put a little space between them. Chet had pushed him away when they left the structure, so it was possible he didn't really want to be touched or coddled. _He was in Vietnam, I remember… maybe it was one of those flashback things…_ Marco couldn't be sure. He'd always heard that flashbacks were a full body reenactment where the affected person believed they were back in combat, and Chet hadn't acted like that. He supposed it could be otherwise; that was only what he'd heard.

Roy slumped over a few minutes later, about the same time as the ambulance arrived. He looked utterly spent.

"You wanted to go to Rampart, Chet?" he asked, "Are you alright?"

"I think I'm okay, just-… somethin' happened and I-I wanna talk to Dr. Early about it."

"Okay… here, Johnny's got the-the victims into the ambulance, so come with me so we can follow in the squad. Do you need help? Were you injured?"

"No, 'm fine…"

Roy helped him to his feet though he looked unsteady himself. _Maybe he should talk to Early, too…_ Marco watched them walk away, their shoulders slumped, looking as though they each carried the weight of the world.

"Marco!" Cap called, "I need you over here on a line!"

He pulled on his air mask and ran toward the still burning house, black smoke billowing into the sky.

xXxXx

"Joe! Joe, could we borrow you for a minute?" Dixie called from the bay station.

He turned. The head nurse approached with Roy and Chet Kelly. Joe knew the other fireman by sight but not as well as the paramedics who regularly came to the hospital. Both men looked like they'd been to Hell and back. _I know Roy was on the recovery of those two victims, but Chet looks pretty bad, too. Worse, even._ Joe stepped close and said, "Here, this treatment room is open. Let's go in here, fellas."

"You and Chet go in," Roy offered, "I'm, uh, I'm gonna wait at the bay station for Johnny."

"Was it very bad, Roy?" Joe asked, "I mean, I saw the victims, but…"

"Whole house was a loss, definitely. Whole second floor was fully involved when we got there," Roy explained, rubbing at the back of his neck, "Overheard some neighbors talkin', said they were shootin' off fireworks and one landed on the roof. Nobody noticed 'til it was too late. Heard the two kids were tired and wanted to go to bed, so they did. Never had a chance…"

Joe swallowed, not wanting the lump to form in his throat. _It never gets easier… and if it does, I'll retire on the spot._ Chet had been silent through the whole exchange, something Joe knew to be out of the ordinary.

"Alright, Chet," he said after a moment, "I can check you over and we can talk… come with me."

The fireman followed slowly. He was shaking finely, almost as if he were cold.

"So, what's brought you here, Chet? Why did you wanna talk with me tonight?"

Chet shrugged, started to mumble something, cleared his throat. Joe waited patiently for him to speak.

"Just-… I-… Somethin' happened at the fire, and I-… I thought it wouldn't happen again."

"It was something that happened before?"

"Yeah, a few years ago… happened a few times."

Joe tried to think of what he knew of Chet Kelly, tried to figure out the problem he'd been presented. _It's just like any patient history. What could cause the problem?_ He'd treated Chet before, usually for the common ailments of the firemen, like smoke inhalation and minor burns. _What was in his history?_ He asked, "Chet, I'd like for you to tell me what happened at the fire."

He shivered more obviously now, still in his heavy turnout. He was about twenty-five, that Joe was sure of, but he looked like a little boy sitting there on the exam table, a little boy playing at firemen. _Army. I remember he was in the Army, in Vietnam._ Chet picked at the sleeve of his turnout.

"There was-… the smoke kinda smelled like spent gunpowder when we went in… smelled like it outside, too, I guess 'cause of all the fireworks. I guess it-it set somethin' off in my head. I was okay, though… I was okay 'til Johnny and Roy brought down those kids, an-and I dunno, doc… there was just-… these memories came over me, like… like a ghost of an image laid over a scene… I saw soldiers carryin' dead Vietnamese kids, kids that died when their village was burned down… puttin' 'em in a mass grave."

"A mass grave?"

"The NVA killed the whole village. "

"And you said this kind of thing happened before? A few years ago?"

"Yeah, right after my discharge."

"Tell me about that. How long were you in the Army and why were you discharged?"

"I signed up for five years, but I was only in for two," Chet explained quietly, "My mom got diagnosed with cancer and I had to take care of her, so they gave me a hardship discharge. That was right after Tet. I'd been in Vietnam for about a year."

"Nobody else here could care for your mother?"

Chet shook his head, saying, "No. I don't have any other family. I had a brother, but he was a junkie, addicted to heroin, so he wasn't good for anything. Mom died a couple months later, and my brother OD'd like a year after that."

"That's a lot to deal with in such a short time," Joe told him.

He shrugged, picking at his coat still. Joe sighed and stepped closer.

"How are you feeling, Chet?"

The blue eyes blinked up at him, like he didn't understand the question, so Joe asked again, "How are you feeling, Chet? I get the idea no one's ever asked you that, or at least not often."

"I-… I'm just tired, doc… and cold and scared and-… I thought they wouldn't come back."

"Do you feel able to return to work tonight? You don't have to lie to me or feel ashamed," Joe explained, "I've read about Vietnam combat stress and battle fatigue-"

"But I left Vietnam in '68! It's been five years-"

"I know, but sometimes these things have far-reaching effects. Just because it's been a long time doesn't mean it can't still bother you. People see things in wartime that stay with them forever, that can haunt them for years to come. Trust me. I know from experience. Honestly, I think you had a flashback, Chet."

"But, doc, those are-… I didn't hurt anybody-"

"Not all flashbacks are like that. In fact, most aren't. Most of the time, a person having a flashback is perfectly aware they're in the present, that they're not back when their trauma occurred. Today, you knew you were a fireman, not a soldier, right? The sulfur smell of the fireworks brought back the memory of the destroyed village, and the sight of the victims aggravated it. I've seen it happen before, and it's nothing to be ashamed of. I presume they happened more often while you were stressed in that year following your discharge, what with your mother being ill and your brother's addiction and their deaths."

"Yeah… yeah, like once a week… usually as nightmares. I couldn't hardly sleep."

Joe nodded. He knew the feeling well, and he knew there wasn't an easy fix.

"I trust you to answer me honestly, Chet. Will you be able to return to work tonight? If not, I want you to stay with someone for the rest of the night," he told him.

"I can work. I… I don't have anyone besides the guys, anyway…"

"Alright. Do you think you could stay with one of them for a day or two? Maybe let them know what's going on so they can help?"

"Yeah… yeah, I think so."

"Good," Joe said, resting a hand on Chet's shoulder, "Now, listen, Chet… I want you to know you can contact me any time of day if this happens again. If I'm available, I will always be willing to talk, understand?"

"Thanks, doc. I really appreciate it."

"You're very welcome. I think Roy said he and Johnny would wait at the bay station for you. I'll see you around."

Chet offered him a weak smile and headed out of the treatment room, no longer shaking.

xXxXx

Mike was a bit nervous about having Chet stay over at his and Marco's apartment. Chet was far more astute than they gave him credit for, and he'd figured out the nature of their relationship on his own months ago. He hadn't outed them to anyone and swore he never would, but Mike still felt on edge. Chet knowing was one thing. Him seeing it was another. It almost felt like an intrusion, and Mike knew it shouldn't.

When Chet came to him and Marco after returning from Rampart, he wasn't very specific on why he needed help, only impressed upon them that he absolutely needed it. _Chet's our friend, and we're all he has. We can't leave him when he needs us._ They didn't even need to discuss it. A shared look, and they agreed immediately. Chet had to run home to pack a bag, and Mike was doing his best to quickly tidy the place up. Rosa and Tito were nowhere to be found, obviously anticipating the company and not happy about it in the slightest.

" _Querido_ , calm down," Marco told him, stopping him from straightening up the coffee table for the third time, "I mean, have you seen Chet's apartment? It's a disaster area."

"I just want him to feel welcome and comfortable .We haven't had anyone stay over since we've been together, and I wanna be sure- shit, I gotta check the spare room."

Chet arrived about forty-five minutes after the end of their shift. Mike knew for a fact Chet didn't sleep when they got back to the station last night. He knew because he didn't sleep, either. No one did after seeing their friends carry two small, burned bodies from that house. Marco made breakfast while Mike helped get Chet settled, showing him into the spare room.

"Fellas," Chet spoke up after breakfast, "I, uh, I really appreciate you letting me stay here."

"Don't even mention it," Marco told him, "You're our friend, Chet. You know we'd do anything for you, anything to make sure you're alright."

"You're always welcome here," Mike added.

"Thanks, guys. Listen, I know it's probably super weird, havin' one of your shiftmates stay here and know what's goin' on, but I don't want it to be weird. I don't want you guys to feel like you hafta hold back or hide anything from me, okay? It doesn't bother me. Besides, I'm your guest, so you shouldn't have change anything here in your own place. I'm the one who should change."

"Don't you worry about it, Chet," Mike said, "You just tell us what you need, and we'll be there."

The day passed in calm comfort. Chet's presence quickly became a nonissue. Mike and Marco felt quite comfortable lounging on the couch in each other's arms, the cats finally emerging after a few hours. Chet didn't bat an eye at their gestures of affection, engrossed in several copies of _Fire Engineering_ , occasionally asked Mike for clarification on some point or another. He was much quieter than usual, but it somehow felt natural, if a bit sad. _It's like he feels he has to put on an act around us and everyone at work, like we won't like him otherwise._ Something twisted in Mike's gut, and Marco tightened his arm around him, as if sensing his discomfort.

They treated themselves to Chinese for dinner, arguing over who would pay. (Chet was rather put out when Marco slipped payment to the delivery boy after he thought he'd won.) Their guest became increasingly agitated as nighttime rolled around, however, as it came closer to the time for them to turn in. He couldn't seem to sit still, muscles twitching under his skin like it didn't fit right. Rosa and Tito together retreated to their unknown hiding place, likely feeling the tension rolling off Chet in waves. Around eleven, Chet shot to his feet, making both Mike and Marco jump.

"Fellas, maybe this was a bad idea, " he started babbling, pacing a short track in front of the chair he'd been sitting in, "I-I-I don't wanna be a-a burden or impose on you guys or nothin' like that so maybe I should just leave an-and-"

"Whoa whoa whoa, where is this coming from, Chet?" Mike asked, rising to still the lineman, "You were fine 'til a little while ago, 'til the sun set all the way. What's the matter?"

"Nothin'…"

"No. Don't do that. Don't lie to us. Not here. We agreed to help you, and we wanna help you, but you hafta let us help you. We can't do anything if you won't tell us what's wrong."

Chet twitched and shivered under Mike's touch, not looking up at him, and after a long moment he muttered, "I just don't wanna bother you guys."

"You're not bothering us. Why would you be bothering us?"

"Because… because I know I'm gonna have bad nightmares tonight, and I don't wanna wake you up with-… I don't wanna wake you up."

His face was red. Marco stepped in, saying, "Chet, that's why you're here, so you don't hafta be alone, so someone will wake up when you have a nightmare and be there for you. C'mon, let's all go to bed, and whatever happens is what happens. If you have nightmare, so be it. We'll be there for you when it happens, okay? That's non-negotiable."

"What is?"

"The fact that you're staying," Mike answered.

He led Chet to the spare room once more, making sure he was alright before heading into his and Marco's room.

"You're fussing, _querido_."

"Fussing?"

"Over Chet," Marco explained, lying on his side, "You all but tucked him in just now. You're treating him like a kid."

"I kind of am, aren't I?" Mike sighed.

Marco nodded. Mike said quietly, "I just can't help it. I only want him to know we care about him, to know he doesn't have to worry about bein' tough, that we're here to help him. I guess I come off a little strong sometimes when I get into 'fussy' mode."

"Well, most of the time, I like it, especially when you fuss over me," Marco whispered, kissing him softly.

They fell asleep quickly, their fingers twined, but their slumber didn't last. The two firemen were jolted awake by a loud scream. Marco was out of bed in a flash, practically ran to the spare room in his haste to reach Chet. Mike was more disoriented, stumbling after Marco in the darkness.

Marco was already in the room when Mike reached the door. He had Chet in his arms, the young lineman sucking in harsh, wheezing breath, blowing out weak sobs. Mike hung back at the door. _They're partners. He knows Chet better than I do, better than anyone, probably._ He almost felt like an intruder on an intimate scene. Chet was so upset he couldn't breathe to cry properly, instead wheezed and choked, curled up in a tight ball. Marco held the younger man tightly, smoothing his hair back from his forehead, holding him like his arms could protect Chet from whatever horrors still lurked in his mind. His voice was low and soothing, only the low rumble audible at the door. Mike stepped further into the room, closer to the bed.

"C'mon, Chet, _mi manito_ ," Marco said softly, "breathe. I need you to breathe. You've gotta breathe or you're gonna make yourself sick… c'mon, just breathe…"

"De-Dead!" he choked, "All of-! Everyone's dead! They-"

"It's okay now, you're safe. Hush, _manito_ , you're safe. It was a nightmare-"

"No! It's real! It happened! They killed them all!"

"But it's over now… whatever happened, it's all over…"

Marco tightened his arms around him. Chet shook violently, his breathing still erratic but less harsh. Mike fetched another blanket for him, handed it to Marco, allowed him to wrap it around his partner.

"What can I do for you, Chet?" Mike asked softly, "Do you want anything to drink? Water? Or coffee maybe?"

"Cof-Coffee, please…"

"I'll get a pot started, pal. I'll be right back."

Something twisted painfully in Mike's chest. He felt so sorry for Chet, was upset at Chet's grief and terror. Chet felt almost like a little brother to Mike and was definitely a good friend. Mike never felt good when his friends were suffering, felt like their hurt was his own. He started the coffee and returned to the spare room. Marco had managed to get Chet into a sitting position flush against his side, his arm around his shoulders. Chet still shivered, wrapped in the blanket, his head resting on Marco's shoulder, his face wet with tears and sweat.

"Coffee should be ready in a few minutes," Mike said quietly.

He said nothing else, knew trying to comfort him would be useless, didn't want to press in and crowd him. A couple tears rolled down Chet's face, and he looked spent, utterly spent and exhausted. After a few minutes, Mike returned to the kitchen, poured three coffees, brought them into the spare room. _Not sure any of us will go back to sleep tonight. We might as well have coffee and wake up a little._ Marco set his coffee on the nightstand and took Chet's in hand, waiting for him to pull his hands out from inside the blanket. He murmured, "Just drink it slowly. Don't make yourself sick," before handing Chet the mug.

"Would you tell us what happened, Chet?" Marco asked after a few minutes.

"I can't," he rasped, "Not right now… 'm not-… I can't right now, fellas…"

The shaking, which had almost disappeared entirely, visibly increased. Mike gently took the mug from his hands until it subsided once more, telling him, "Don't worry. It's alright. You don't hafta tell us now. There's nothing you hafta do right now except relax. You're safe here, Chet."

Mike knew Chet had been in Vietnam, but now he wondered what exactly happened over there. _He worked construction, but holy shit, what did he see over there? What could've happened to make him have such an awful nightmare?_ Mike set the coffee down and suggested, "Do you think you could go back to sleep? Chet, it might help you feel better to sleep and rest."

"I-I dunno, Mike…"

"I'll stay with you," Marco told him, "If you don't wanna be alone, I won't leave you… I promise."

"Yeah… yeah, tha-that would be good. 'm scared to be by myself…"

He shivered again, and Marco pulled him closer, whispering, "You're not alone. You don't hafta be alone anymore. C'mon, go to sleep, _manito_. I'll be right here. I'm not leaving, and if I do have to leave for anything, Mike will come in."

"Promise?"

"We promise," Mike agreed.

Chet settled in against Marco's side. Mike got to his feet, said, "Call me if you need anything, babe," squeezed Chet's shoulder, gave Marco a quick kiss on the cheek. He was sure there was no way he would really sleep, but his body and mind proved too tired. Mike was asleep in minutes.

xXxXx

Marco managed to wake with the sun, finding Chet still asleep, pressed close against his side. He cracked his neck, the vertebrae protesting at the unusual sleeping position. There was movement in the hall, and Mike appeared in the doorway, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"You alright, babe?" he whispered.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Chet's been out all night, so that's good. No more nightmares."

Mike hummed quietly and stepped up to Marco's side. Marco craned his neck, silently asking for a kiss he was quickly gifted.

"Do you need to get up, babe? I can sit with Chet for a bit."

"No, I think I'm alright for now," he replied, "Why don't you do what you hafta do and then maybe start some breakfast? I want Chet to sleep for as long as possible."

He got the feeling the smell of food cooking might wake Chet up, but he managed to sleep through it. Marco shifted carefully, not wanting to jostle his sleeping partner, his stomach growling loudly. Chet gave a soft snuffle against Marco's shoulder and nestled into his side. _Yeah, just keep sleeping. You deserve some rest._ He knew so little about Chet's past, only knew that he had no family, that they were all dead, that he'd been in Vietnam for about a year. He never confided in Marco how his family members all died. He'd just said they didn't go all at once, and Marco wasn't sure if that was better or worse.

"Time 'izzit?"

Marco looked down. Chet's eyes were slowly blinking open, a hand snaking out from the blanket to rub at them.

"It's still pretty early. You should go back to sleep and-"

"Is that breakfast?"

He had to laugh quietly at that, replying, "Yeah, it's breakfast. Mike made it."

"Thought it was Mike… doesn't smell like your breakfast, Marco."

"Definitely not," he agreed, "Mike doesn't make chili for breakfast… or anything with peppers."

Chet gave a quiet laugh, sat up all the way, let the blanket fall from his shoulders, wrinkled his nose.

"Hmm… think maybe I oughta shower."

"Yeah, I think maybe you should."

He made a face, pushing more of the blanket away. Marco didn't move, didn't want to move until Chet said it was okay for him to do so.

"Marco? You, uh… you were here the whole night?"

"Of course I was. You asked me to be," he replied, "You said you didn't wanna be alone."

Chet looked up at him, opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, shut it again. His face was red.

"Hey, _manito_ , why don't you go get a shower, and I'll make sure breakfast is hot. Maybe I'll even make some chili to go with it… if you wanted."

"I wouldn't turn my nose up at some chili, I guess."

Marco got to his feet and instinctively helped Chet up. Mike sat in the living room, his empty plate beside him.

"Everything alright?" he asked quietly.

"For now, anyway," Marco answered, "I'm gonna add a little onto breakfast. Chet likes my chili. Woke right up to smell of food and then knew it wasn't mine."

"So mine's not good enough?"

"Oh, he didn't say that, _querido_ … but I thought he would like it."

Mike came into the kitchen and leaned against the counter, asking, "Did he tell you anything this morning?"

"No… he only asked if I really stayed the whole night, and he seemed kinda surprised when I said I did. When I think about it, it's kinda sad, that he didn't think I would…"

Chet should know better than that by now. _He should know we care about him, that we only want him to be happy and healthy… that we would never leave him if he needed us._ Marco sighed, continued to work on breakfast, listened to the sound of the shower. He remembered something Chet told him on New Year's, something that made his stomach flop uncomfortably. Chet had told him that he didn't like getting close to people, that those people tended to die, people he loved. Who else could he have lost to make him feel like that? The thought wasn't pleasant. Mike seemed to sense his discomfort and stepped up behind him, wrapping his long arms loosely around Marco's waist and resting his chin on his shoulder. The warmth steadied him.

By the time Chet emerged from the bathroom, Marco had everything ready.

xXxXx

"Here, Chet, Mike'll get you all set up with food while I use the bathroom, okay? Be right back."

Chet watched Marco go, feeling a sense of mild apprehension. _He's only going to the bathroom. He'll be right back._ _I'm gonna be fine._ Mike gently ushered him into the kitchen to get breakfast.

"Heard you weren't exactly excited when you figured out I made breakfast today," Mike teased.

"Aw, no, Mike, you know I love your breakfast. Why, is Marco tryin' to make an excuse for makin' chili this morning?"

"He never needs an excuse."

Chet let out a huff of laughter and filled his plate, making sure to get plenty of chili. He looked around his friends' apartment as he ate, feeling an onslaught of conflicting emotions. He was happy, of course, so happy to know he had friends who trusted him and cared about him enough to let him stay over, so happy they loved each other. It made Chet feel downright privileged. On the other hand, however, he still felt crushing doubt paired with lingering anxiety. The flashback (or whatever it was) late on Wednesday night followed by last night's nightmare left him feeling off. They had both taken a lot out of him, physically and emotionally, left him drained and hopeless and anxious. Even here in the safety of Marco and Mike's apartment, Chet felt like he had to look over his shoulder. He tried to focus on the good feelings instead.

That was harder than anticipated. _I forgot exactly how bad these things fuck me up._ Like he'd told Early, things were really bad during that first year he was home, with his mother's illness and death, joining the department, and his brother dying. The stress gave him nightmares once a week, but he thanked every god there was that he never had one of those flashback things during training, or he probably wouldn't be sitting here today. _Hell, maybe I'd be dead, too. Maybe I'd've OD'd or shot myself or somethin' like that…_ Chet only ate half the food he'd piled on his plate.

Marco and Mike were both quiet, barely speaking even to each other. The anxiety reared up again in Chet's mind. _Holy shit, they had a fight 'cause of me. Something I did made 'em fight._ He felt the heat color his cheeks, felt his chest tighten.

"Chet?" Mike asked, "Chet, are you alright?"

"Yeah… yeah, I'm okay-"

"C'mon, Chet, don't lie to us," Mike said firmly, "What's wrong?"

"I made you guys have a fight," he blurted, "and I don't know what I did so I'll leave and-"

"What? Chet-… Chet, we didn't fight," Marco told him, "Why would you think that?"

"You guys were jus-just sittin' there and bein' real quiet and-"

"We're always quiet."

"I promise you, Chet," Mike explained calmly, "Me and Marco didn't fight. We're always like this, especially in the morning. Even after coffee we aren't usually chatterboxes. You know that."

"I do, but I'm –I can't make myself believe it right now. I'm too messed up."

"You're not messed up-"

"I am! I'm fucked up!" Chet half-shouted.

"Why?" Marco asked, not raising his voice, "Why, 'cause you had a nightmare? 'Cause seein' the bodies of two dead kids bothered you so much? That happens to a lot of people."

"Not like this, pal. Not like this… Y'know what Early said happened? He said I had a flashback, and y'know what that means? I'm crazy. He's probably gonna tell the department about this and that's it! You can all kiss my ass goodbye 'cause they're gonna ship me off to the funny farm and-"

"Stop that," Mike said, getting to his feet, making Chet realize he was standing, "Stop talking like that. Dr. Early would never do anything like that, and you're definitely not crazy. This was a one time thing-"

"No, it wasn't!"

They both blinked at him.

"I got 'em when I came back from 'Nam," Chet explained, "I had a lot goin' on. My mom was dyin' of brain caner, my brother was addicted to heroin, and deployment hadn't exactly been a fuckin' pleasure vacation. Add the stress of fire academy, and it was like boot camp all over again and bam! It was the perfect cocktail for my brain to go nuts. I told you, I'm fuckin' messed up!"

"But we don't care about that," Marco replied, "Well, I mean we do care but about you and that you're upset and this is bothering you. We only wanna help you, messed up or not."

"You just need to be open with us," Mike added, "We really want to help you, but we can't unless you let us help you. Talk to us, Chet. We'll listen."

 _Yeah, right…_ He couldn't believe that. No one wanted to listen to him.

"Listen," he snorted, "Yeah, that's why everyone always tells me to shut up all the time."

They did look rather sheepish to have that brought up. Marco spoke up, "This is important, Chet. We know the difference. Something really upset you the other day, and we wanna know what."

"You wanna know why I'm upset?" Chet snapped, "I saw Johnny and Roy carry two dead kids out of a burning house that reeked like gunpowder and all I could think of was the time the NVA slaughtered a whole village of women and children and old people and I had to dig the hole to put 'em in! Okay? You happy?"

Neither of the others spoke, and Chet rolled on, fueled by anger and grief and nervousness (and oddly, relief), "I wasn't too pleased, either, especially not when the lone survivor returned from gathering water to find her whole family dead. She screamed even worse than that woman at the house fire. We used a bulldozer and a backhoe, the backhoe to dig the mass grave and the bulldozer to push all the bodies in. Wasn't exactly my favorite moment of the war, but I sure won't ever forget it…"

He'd stunned his friends into silence. _Thought I might… Never have told anyone that…_ Chet was almost angry with his friends, angry that they could never understand what he'd been through and what exactly it had done to him. They could sympathize and feel bad, but they could never understand. He paced over to the window and gazed out. _I won't get started on Melanie… They don't need to know about Mellie just yet…_ Chet looked back at his friends, saw the horror and disbelief and sadness in their faces, sighed long and low.

"I'll just-… I'll pack up my stuff and go-"

"Absolutely not."

Mike was on his feet again, He stepped up close to Chet and put his hands on his shoulders.

"You're still upset, still bothered by this, and we want you to stay here until things are better again. We don't care how long it takes."

"I can deal with it by myself, fellas."

"But you don't have to," Marco said, rising to join them, "I know you're used to dealing with stuff alone because you really had no choice, but you don't hafta be alone anymore. Me and Mike and all the guys are here to help you when you have a problem, no matter what that problem is. You've gotta remember that, _manito_."

Chet looked at his friends. He now saw determination in place of sadness, strength in place of disbelief, love in place of horror. Tears welled up in his eyes without warning, his emotions running high after spilling everything he'd kept hidden for so long. Chet ducked his head. Mike pulled him into a quick embrace.

"We'll hang out for a couple hours here," Mike said, smiling gently, "then we should go do somethin' fun. I know a quiet 'lil beach we could hit. Some sun, sand, and surf always helps me feel better after a rough time."

"Yeah, I think it'll do us a lot of good," Marco agreed.

Chet sniffed even as a little smile came over his face. _It certainly won't solve everything… but it'll be a good start._

"That sounds great, fellas. Uh… got any spare trunks?"

* * *

 _ **Love getting reviews. Any little thing you liked, it's always nice to hear about it.**_


	17. Damn Good Friends

_**Warnings: mild language, canonical injury to a main character**_

 _ **Did the best I could to follow the dialogue for the ep with this one, pretty much watched the scene as I wrote it. Please let me know if something is off so I can fix it.**_

 _ **Just a reminder, I'm going on a month's hiatus with this fic following this chapter. I'm trying to figure out exactly where it's going to go, and I definitely don't want to put something up here that's rushed and not up to par. Thank you all for being so lovely and understanding. Please remember to leave a review and let me know what you think!**_

* * *

"Hey, Cap," Johnny said, jogging over from where the chopper just took off, "I left the handie-talkie down below. I'm gonna go get it, okay?"

Marco watched from the engine, packing away the equipment they'd been using earlier with Mike and Chet. _Of course he left it. He's a good kid, but he'd lose his head if it weren't attached._ Chet shook his head faintly. Marco's heart was slowing down after the adrenaline rush of the rescue. It had been a rough one, but there were no fatalities, and Marco was always pleased when there were no fatalities. Everyone was, particularly when it looked as bad as this one.

"Did you hear that?" Chet asked.

"Hear what?"

"Marco, it sounded like a shout… was it Johnny?"

"Maybe. I didn't hear anything."

Chet pursed his lips under his moustache, clearly worried about something. Marco opened his mouth, started to say Johnny probably just fell, probably just went ass-over-teakettle and startled himself.

" _Engine 51, this is John. Uh… I've been bit by a rattlesnake._ "

Cap's order was immediate.

"Chet, Marco, move."

It was an order he didn't need to give. They heard Cap on the H/T to dispatch, "LA, this is Engine 51. We have a paramedic bitten by a rattlesnake. Engine 51 is no longer available. Time out, one hour. I repeat, paramedic bitten by a rattlesnake…"

The two linemen were bounding down the hillside. Tractor 2 came into sight. In front of him, Chet gave a panicked shout of, "Johnny!" to which Hector replied, "Over here," directing them to come around behind the tractor where he was holding Johnny up. He already looked a little pale and sweaty. _Shit, this might be really bad._ Marco knew not every bite was deadly. A rattler wouldn't waste its venom trying to scare something off. Honestly, he hoped this would be one of those things where Johnny was just overreacting, where he scared himself and got worried. It did not look like this was the case.

He and Chet half-carried Johnny to the tractor, trying to keep the bitten leg from moving and pumping the venom through his blood faster. Johnny looked outwardly calm. Surely, he knew panic would only serve to get his blood racing… but outward calm meant nothing. Marco had no doubt he was freaking out under that composed exterior. Between Johnny and Hector, there was only room for one more in the cab, and while Marco was worried for his friend, Chet was definitely moreso. Marco helped Johnny up and hurried around to the rear of the tractor, climbing onto the back and hanging on tight.

" _Squad 51, we have Rampart on the landline. They're requesting vital signs._ "

"Alright, Rampart, as soon as we get outta here," Johnny replied.

Hector spoke up, "Alright… it's gonna be a short trip, boys. Engine 51, Tractor 2, coming up."

" _10-4, Tractor 2._ "

The engine of the tractor roared into life, the stack belching black smoke before lurching up the hill. Marco held on tighter. Hector promised a quick trip, but it felt like forever before the tractor finally reached the top. He couldn't see Chet and Johnny, couldn't hear them over the tractor engine. Cap and Mike were waiting for them. Mike's expression was guarded worry. The tractor came to a halt, and Marco climbed around to the cab. Chet said, "Let's get him outta here. Let's get him out."

Mike and Cap each took one of Johnny's legs, Marco and Chet holding him at the shoulder and armpit. Johnny was panting now. They all but ran to the engine.

Mike was the first up, wrapping an arm around Johnny's legs and easily scaling the back of the engine to get him settled against the hose. The paramedic mumbled, "Okay, okay… alright…" as Chet scrambled up over the back, Marco not far behind.

"Gimme the drug box," Johnny told Marco, settling himself and getting the H/T ready, "LA, this is Squad 51. Can you notify Rampart and please set up for a relay of vital signs?"

" _10-4, 51._ "

Chet fixed the tourniquet higher, trying to stem the flow of venom. Together, Marco, Chet, and Cap got Johnny all set up for blood pressure, standing by for whatever he needed. The panting was getting worse. Chet looked scared. Johnny was still pretending to be calm.

"Marco, set up an IV…"

He did as he was told.

"LA, Squad 51. Vital signs are… pulse 95, respirations 18, BP is 120 over 65."

" _51, Rampart advises IV with Ringer's lactate_."

"10-4, Rampart… okay…"

Marco repressed a shudder, knowing what was coming next. Johnny told Chet, "Swab me down… No, here… okay… okay, I got it… Get the ball…"

He pumped the cuff, making the veins pop in his arm, said, "Swab it again."

Chet scrambled to obey. Johnny braced his arm against his thigh.

"Well… here goes… ah!"

Marco couldn't bring himself to watch the needle go in, busied himself with the IV bag instead. He heard Chet ripping off pieces of tape, making sure the IV would be secure.

"Get the cannula… okay…"

Once Johnny checked everything, he asked for the IV and got it hooked up, said, "Now lemme adjust the drip, Marco. Just gimme a drip."

Cap watched anxiously the whole time, his nervous energy beginning to infect the two linemen. _Poor Cap… he must feel so bad, probably feels like it's his fault._ Marco carefully held the IV bag, briefly wondering where Mike was. _I should know better. He's been sitting in the driver's seat the whole time._ Mike was probably itching to go, hands gripping the steering wheel.

"Okay, Cap. Let's get me outta here," Johnny said, examining his IV once more.

Cap turned to Marco, telling him, "Now, Lopez, you bring in the squad. Let's get going."

Marco passed Chet the IV bag, muttered, "Better put your helmet on," gave Johnny a quick pat on the shoulder. Cap was already almost in the cab. Marco grabbed the wheel block on the driver's side and tossed it into the back, briefly locking eyes with Mike as he passed. As soon as Marco was clear, Mike started backing the engine up the dirt road. Marco watched them in the rearview mirror, could see Chet sitting up, helmet firmly atop his head. _Drive fast, Mike, and drive safe. I know you will._

xXxXx

"LA, Engine 51. We're transporting the snakebite victim to Rampart Emergency. ETA is thirty minutes," Cap reported.

" _10-4, 51. Rampart requests an update on patient's condition._ "

There was a short delay, and Mike heard Johnny respond, "LA, this is Engine 51. Patient is experiencing numbness around the mouth, and he's somewhat drowsy."

He didn't sound good.

" _Engine 51, you're breaking up. Engine 51, you're breaking up and unreadable. Repeat._ "

Cap swore under his breath and grabbed the radio, saying, "LA, Engine 51. Repeating. Patient is experiencing numbness around the mouth, also drowsiness."

" _10-4, 51._ "

Sam's voice was calm, but that was his job, to remain calm when everything else was going to hell. There was no relay from Rampart. _There's nothing else we can do._ Mike tightened his grip on the steering wheel and adjusted his position in the seat. He ran through the routes in his mind, quickly coming up with the fastest for the engine and squad. Cap was tense beside him, his eyes fixed behind them, fixed on his men in the back. In the mirrors, Mike could see only dust. _Sorry, babe, but there's really no way to drive easy right now._ Mike pressed the gas down a little harder, readying the clutch to change gears. Speed was what they needed now, speed and care.

About seven minutes later, Cap called in, "LA, Engine 51. Notify Rampart. Our ETA is now fifteen minutes."

Sam acknowledged their call. Cap swore again, still looking to the back of the engine. Mike felt the engine hit pavement. He pushed in the clutch and shifted gears up, pushing the gas pedal down, determined to shave more time off their ETA. _No one could do it better, not where Johnny is concerned._ Mike never liked having to speed like this. Obviously, it was a point of pride for an engineer to get somewhere as fast as possible, but this was different entirely. Johnny was a friend, a good friend. He didn't even want to begin to think about him dying. Bobby's funeral last year had been bad. Mike didn't think any of them would survive Johnny's funeral. He shifted gears again, pushing Big Red, her engine growling as if to protect the men in her care. _You'll get us there, my girl, just like you always do. Take us home._

Cap made a soft noise beside him as he pulled Big Red into Rampart's emergency entrance. Mike took the time to carefully back her in at the ambulance entrance. By the time he got out of the cab, Cap and Chet were getting Johnny down and onto a gurney. Mike hung back, wanting desperately to help but not wanting to be in the way. Johnny didn't look good, looked pale and clammy and sweaty. Marco stepped up beside him, murmured, "C'mon, Mike… let's go in and wait for him," put gentle pressure on his back to lead him into the hospital. Chet was still with Johnny, holding the IV bag.

The followed the gurney, stopping at the open door. Roy was already in there. _That's good. Poor Roy's probably been worried sick._ Mike's stomach gave an uncomfortable flop. His fingers twitched against his hip, wanted to grab Marco's hand, wanted an anchor. The door swung shut. Johnny's life was out of their hands.

xXxXx

The door opened, and Dixie and Roy stepped out of the treatment room.

"How's he doin'?" Cap asked.

"We'll know soon," Dixie replied, leaning against the doorframe.

Marco felt Mike standing close to him, took a small amount of comfort from the warmth and proximity. Dixie looked around, told them gently, "Why don't you guys go get a cup of coffee or somethin'?"

That was her code for 'I know you're worried, so go be together. We're all waiting.' They'd heard it plenty of times before, five of them crowded around a treatment room door, just waiting. _Go get some coffee. We'll do our best. Get some coffee. Comfort each other._ Mike led the way, his shoulders slumped. Roy hung back with Dixie, which was his privilege. Johnny was his partner.

The hospital break room was not far away. Dr. Early was there, wearing scrubs and sipping coffee. His expression darkened when he saw three of them come in. Marco could see his wheels turning, trying to figure out who was hurt of the missing three, finally asking, "Who is it?"

"Johnny," Marco replied quietly, "He was bit by a rattlesnake."

Mike handed him a cup of coffee as Dixie and Roy came in. Roy paused, looked around at all of them, cleared his throat, explained, "They have to make sure Johnny isn't allergic to the antivenom. It'll be twenty minutes before they're sure enough to give it to him, but-"

His mouth snapped shut after his voice cracked, and he turned to get himself some coffee.

"Johnny has everything going for him," Dixie told them, "He's young, healthy, strong. There's no reason he won't bounce back from this."

No one replied, not even Early. Too often they'd seen someone with everything going for them succumb to the odds. None of them mentioned Chet, either. Chet and Johnny were good friends. He'd sat with Johnny the whole time, took care of him on the back of the engine, watched him slip into unconsciousness. _That must have been rough._ An uncomfortable silence hung over the small room. After a short time, Dixie took Roy back to the treatment room, leaving the rest of them in the break room with Early.

Marco stood by Mike at the window, wanting the comfort of being near him, looking out over the parking lot. It was bright and sunny. The weather always seemed to be bright and clear when no one had any cause for happiness. Marco looked at his watch. Twenty minutes had just passed. They would get word soon.

Everyone turned at the sound of footsteps in the hallway, running footsteps. The door to the break room banged open, making all of them jump. Chet wore a big silly grin as he told them all, "Brackett's givin' Johnny the antivenom now. Said he's gonna be just fine."

Marco felt himself grin in return. Roy wasn't far behind. He came in and confirmed what Chet told them, stopping to talk in depth with Cap and Early. Chet made his way over to Marco and Mike, still smiling. Marco pulled him into a hug, wrapping his arms tight around him, just held him for a moment. Mike hugged him, too. They'd had a hard day, after all.

"You okay, Chet?" Mike asked softly, trying to stay out of earshot of the other three.

"Yeah, I'm okay now. It was just-… It was just really scary, y'know?" Chet replied, his voice low, "He hung in there for a long time, actually, didn't pass out 'til we were practically to Rampart. He was pretty out of it just before, though. Was tellin' me-… well… he was pretty out of it."

Curiosity niggled at the back of Marco's mind, but he chose not to pry. What had passed between Chet and Johnny was not his business. He simply said, "Well, Brackett said he was gonna be alright, so he will be. You did real good today, Chet. Real good."

"Aw, I didn't do any-"

"You did plenty, _manito_. You stayed with Johnny and took care of him when he needed it. I don't exactly call that nothing," Marco told him, "You did real good."

The blue eyes looked like they still didn't quite believe him.

xXxXx

"Hey, Mike," Hank called to his engineer, "Now that we know Johnny's alright, why don't you go move the engine outta the way, pal?"

"Sure thing, Cap."

The man moved quickly, presumably to return soon. Early was called to check on a patient, and Roy went to speak to Chet and Marco. Hank sighed and ran a hand through his hair. This had been a close one, much too close. He played the situation over in his head, heard Johnny's calm radio call, wondered what could've been different. _What if Chet or Marco had gone down there?_ He hoped no one saw him shiver. Everyone had done such a good job today. No other station could have done so well, been so calm. _Not that I was necessarily calm, but at least we didn't kill anyone on the way here._

Hank looked to the men left in the room with him. They would have to return to work soon, even after what they'd just been through, even though Roy's partner would be replaced as soon as someone could come in, even though their friend lay in a hospital bed. He'd called them out for one hour, an hour soon to be over. _I should call in additional time out._ They would want to see Johnny before they left, that was for certain.

"Cap, did you hear me?"

He blinked. Roy was in front of him, looking concerned again.

"Sorry, Roy. I'm fine. Just thinkin'… what'd you say?"

"Just I'm gonna go ask Dix if we can see Johnny before we leave. See him in his recovery room, I mean. He should be goin' there soon."

"That's fine with me. Come back and let us know, alright?"

Additional time was definitely needed. Not much more, but more. Marco and Chet continued to speak in low voices by the window. Hank informed them he was stepping out into the hallway. He made his way over to the payphone, placing a call to their battalion chief and explaining the situation.

" _Oh, Hank, you're fine. Don't worry about it."_

"You're sure?"

" _Of course. No one was gonna bother you 'til you called in available. You fellas have a right to make sure your man is okay before you leave. Besides, we're still tryin' to get in a replacement for Gage."_

"Thank you, sir. We appreciate it."

Mike returned only a minute or so before Roy.

"Dixie's gonna take us up to see him once he's settled," Roy explained, "Brackett said Johnny's vitals are getting stronger, too, so he's sure Johnny's gonna be just fine."

The relief was palpable. Mike came over to Hank wearing a small smile.

"Shoulda known he'd be alright," Mike said quietly, "What's the old saying? 'God protects fools, drunks, and the United States.' Shoulda known…"

Hank hummed in agreement, said, "That's why our shift is still here, that's for sure."

They stood together quietly for a moment before Mike asked, "Are you alright, Cap?"

"It shows?"

"On you? Yeah, it shows. You care too much to be able to hide it."

 _Stoker, you 'lil shit…_ Hank snorted quietly and replied, "Well, I think I'm allowed. That was a scary thing that happened today. Coulda happened to any one of us during that rescue. I didn't even think of that 'til we got here. Any one of us coulda been bit."

"S'pose that's true," Mike agreed, "but it happened to Johnny, happened after we got all the victims out. In a way, we were lucky, 'cause Johnny knew exactly what to do."

"I know, but I hate to feel that way, Mike. I'm supposed to look out for you fellas, not pick and choose who gets hurt 'cause they'll handle it best."

"Oh, c'mon, you didn't know that rattlesnake was down there. None of us did."

 _Someday, Mike, you'll be a captain, a damn fine one, and then you'll understand._ Hank sighed. Another few moments passed in silence.

"Chet did a good job today," Mike spoke up.

He did. He did a wonderful job. Chet and Johnny would both be receiving recommendations for commendations. What they did today in the face of fear and potential tragedy was incredible. Hank replied simply, "That he did."

All his boys had done an amazing job today. They all remained calm, all kept their heads, all forced down whatever panic they had to make sure Johnny would make it. Roy ruffled Chet's hair, receiving a quiet huff of laughter and a light shove in response. They all had a peculiar bond, these firemen. They could argue with each other, get on each other's nerves, sometimes be downright cruel to each other… but in a crisis that all went away. What happened in the past was long gone and forgotten, at least for the moment, and all that mattered was that a fellow fireman needed help. It was very much like brotherhood but stronger somehow. Blood didn't always stay together, could be washed away, could be abandoned under certain circumstances when it was the only tie. A man chose to join the fire department, chose to be brother to thousands.

The door opened behind him, and Dixie poked her head in, saying, "He's all settled in, fellas. Follow me. Just be warned, he might be a little out of it."

xXxXx

Roy held back at the elevator. It was a split second hesitation, but it was there. He'd been so worried. It almost felt like the end of the world was approaching and he could see it coming. Snakebites were fickle. What killed one person would barely injure another. It was the type of bite, the type of snake, the type of venom, everything. _And there was nothin' I could do…_ He felt so useless, so helpless. He just had to stand there and listen to Johnny treat himself, listen to Cap frantically call in updates, listen to Sam relay everything but able to hear their voices in his head clear as a bell.

Marco stood by him as they walked down the corridor. He'd have to speak with Marco later… or Mike. He'd gotten the most pressing information on what happened, certainly, but he needed more. Chet was too close to it. He heard Chet was with Johnny on the back of the engine the whole way in. _I like to think I'm Johnny's best friend, but Chet sure runs a close second._ They were an odd combination, and occasionally a destructive one, but they worked together well and clearly cared for one another.

The guys allowed Roy into the room first, alone with Dixie. Johnny's lower right leg was swollen about the calf and ankle, with some bruising around the bite site that was a very dark red. The brown eyes were glazed over and lidded, though he offered Roy a tired, goofy smile.

"Hey, Junior," Roy said quietly, "heard you had a hard day."

"Yeah… kinda did…"

His brows knitted after he said that, his eyes blearily scanning the room. The younger man wet his lips, fixed his eyes on Roy as best he could, said with some effort, "You… you weren't there, Roy."

Something twisted in Roy's chest as he agreed, "No, I wasn't."

"Where were you? Why weren't you there?"

"Because I was here… at Rampart. I flew in with the accident victims, remember, Johnny?"

A moment passed before recognition came over Johnny's face, the concern washing away and the goofy smile returning. _That's better._ Roy stepped closer, his hip pressed against the hospital bed.

"Did Dixie tell ya, Roy? Didja tell 'im, Dix?"

"Tell him what, Johnny?"

"I-I gave m'self an IV, Roy… an' I did a pretty good job of it."

"I heard. I was at the bay station the whole time. You did a great job… though your bedside manner probably needed some work, I think."

"Yeah… yeah, s'pose it did."

He lapsed into silence for a moment, and Roy thought maybe he'd fallen asleep for a moment until the young man spoke. Johnny's voice was low and quiet as he told Roy, "Y'know, I'se really scared. It was real scary."

"I can't imagine."

"I wish you were there… but not if I died. I wouldn' want ya there if I died."

"Why not?"

 _Honestly, I'm not sure I'd wanna be there for that, either._ He didn't voice that, however, only let Johnny continue, " 'Cause it'd hurt ya pretty bad, Roy. I seen what happened t' Mike when he watched his friend die… an' I seen a good friend'a mine die, 'member? 's no good, pal…"

Roy ducked his head. Of course. Drew Burke died only a month ago, killed when an old man accidentally hit him with a car. Johnny took it pretty hard. Roy blinked back the sudden onset of tears at the thought of Johnny dying there on the back of the engine or in the treatment room. That would be a tragedy. Johnny was too young, too promising, too good. Roy sniffed loudly and told Johnny, "I-I'm really glad you're alright."

"Me, too. Y'know, Chet did a damn good job today. Damn good. He stayed wi' me the whole time… least, 'm pretty sure he did, anyway… I asked 'im to, anyway…"

"He did. He stayed with you. He brought you in, and he was with you until Brackett gave you the antivenom, and he was the first one to tell the guys you were okay."

"He's a good guy. I know I-I-I give 'im some shit, but I really do like 'im. Is he outside?"

"Yeah, do you wanna talk to him? All the guys wanna see you."

"Send Chet in first?"

The brown eyes were glazed and somewhat confused but still very concerned. There was another twisting sensation in Roy's chest, different from the first, this one closer to jealousy. He pushed it away. _This is not the time or the place._

"I'll send him in," Roy told his partner, smoothing his hair back from his forehead.

Chet looked fairly surprised but went in, leaving everyone else in the corridor. Roy wished he knew the reason for the small streak of jealousy. He knew Johnny was his friend, his partner, always would be, however, Chet was his friend, too. Chet was the one there for him during this ordeal, not Roy. Chet was the one helping him and sitting with him and keeping him calm… not Roy. It made sense for Johnny to want to see him. A hand settled on Roy's shoulder, squeezing gently.

Marco's expression was warm and comforting. _Good friends. We have some damn good friends on this shift._ Roy could picture Cap's concern, Mike's careful speed with the engine, Marco dutifully following in the squad with worry in his face, Chet's masked fear as he sat with Johnny. He knew he shouldn't feel bad or helpless or anything like that. Roy had done his job. He'd taken the patients to the hospital, taken care of them, done his duty, helped the citizens of LA County like he'd sworn to do. There was no way of knowing his partner would get snakebit. _So why do I feel like shit?_

Johnny was released from the hospital after a few days, the swelling in his leg down considerably. Roy came to pick him up at Rampart. The young paramedic grinned up at him from the wheelchair Dixie pushed him out in, complaining lightly that he could walk just fine but to no avail. Neither Dixie nor Roy was giving any ground.

"Alright, Johnny, you behave yourself," Dixie told him, smirking.

"You know I try."

"You do not. Keep an eye on him, Roy. Make sure he follows instructions."

"Dix, you know I try… and you know it doesn't always work."

"That I do, Roy."

Johnny still had a bit of a limp he tried to hide, which was typical Johnny. That was his MO, make the small things seem like a big deal and the big things like nothing at all. Roy took Johnny to his house.

"Thought Joanne and the kids would be here waitin' for me," Johnny commented.

"Yeah, they've got a birthday party… one Chris's friends from school. They'll be back in a couple hours. Then you're gonna get it."

"Yeah, don't I know it…"

His brown eyes looked over the living room, finally rested on Roy.

"I'm okay, Roy," he said softly, "They took care of me, the fellas."

"I-I know, just-… c'mon, Junior, I know you know how it feels."

"Yeah, I do. Even though you did your job, you feel like you failed your friend. Been there, done that. We all have. C'mere, pal…"

Roy hesitated. He was not a hugger. He was not prone to overt shows of affection, even with his close friends and family. That's just how he was raised, and he didn't expect he would change in a hurry. _Old dogs and new tricks don't usually go together._ Johnny was slowly changing him, as were the others on his shift. A few of them were pretty touchy-feely, not overly so but enough. They liked a quick hug, a squeeze of the shoulder, standing close enough to touch. _It rubs off on you sometimes._ Johnny's arms were outstretched. Roy rolled his eyes, but it was all for show. He stepped in and gave Johnny a hug, holding him tight. _I almost lost him. I still can't believe it._ Here he was, alive and whole and almost none the worse for wear, warm in Roy's arms. He could feel Johnny's chest rise and fall, could hear his breath against his ear.

"I'm okay, Roy," Johnny murmured, "I'm alright…"

Roy said nothing and simply tightened his arms around his friend.


	18. SSDD

_**Warnings: death in detail, language.**_

 _ **Sorry this is Tuesday and not Monday, but I ended up unexpectedly sitting with my sister in the ER for like four hours only for there to be nothing wrong with her (which is good but a little frustrating, nonetheless). There will be another short break coming at the end of the month because I will be going to Europe for about a week and won't be able to post.**_

* * *

"We had a crazy shift, fellas," Dwyer told them on his way out, "Hope you're prepared."

The shift all looked at each other, hoping the calm spring day wouldn't require them to go on too many runs. Nice days like this were a bit of a mixed bag. Sometimes they were busy since people were trying to get out of the house, other times they might only get one run. Mike noted there was a bit of clean up to do around the station since the previous shift had been so busy. Roy actually ended up with latrines that day, with Chet and Johnny on dorms, Mike with the bay, and Marco with the kitchen and meals.

About an hour into the shift, the squad was toned out for a heart trouble case, but unusually, both paramedics groaned as they got into the squad.

"C'mon, fellas," Chet said, "you haven't even gotten to the call yet."

"I'm tellin' ya, Chet," Johnny said, "We've seen that family three times already. It's always nothin'. This couple has a fight, she fakes heart trouble, we gently tell her off. Lather, rinse, repeat. I tell ya, it's ridic-"

His words were cut off as Roy pulled out of the bay. Mike stood with his hands on his hips, watching them turn onto the main road and speed away. _Just because it's usually nothing doesn't mean it is this time. Always gotta act as if it's an emergency._ He stepped back into the bay rather unwillingly. The day outside was calm and warm and beautiful, a perfect day to do anything but work. Mike had opened both bay doors, wanting to get the warm breeze and fresh air flowing through the station, enjoying spring's arrival.

Last week, they'd had the misfortune of working on April Fool's Day with The Phantom lurking around. Mike was proud to say he and Cap were the only two he didn't target, even if it was simply because good sense dictated you didn't mess with the engineer or the captain. The other three members of their shift, however, were borderline terrorized by Chet all day and into the night until Mike teamed up with them to get back at him. Mike snuck in while Chet was in the shower with a bottle of shampoo and kept squirting it on his head, watching him get increasingly frustrated by not being able to wash out all the suds. The cursing was pretty creative, at least.

Today seemed to be shaping up to be slower than slow, so Mike supposed The Phantom would be making a reappearance if Chet got bored enough. _Maybe we can do something outside… shoot hoops or toss a ball or something like that._ He took in a deep lungful of fresh air and continued his slow but thorough cleaning of the bay. He carefully swept up any dirt and debris first, hit all the corners, even pulled the engine up to sweep under that, as well. After that, everything got a good mop. Roy and Johnny returned during his cleaning, smartly parking the squad out front by the engine so Mike didn't have to scold them.

"Kept yourself busy, Stoker?" Johnny asked.

"Yup. Kept busy and kept outta everyone's business."

"That's the way to be, I reckon."

"Sure is… and if anyone messes this floor up, I'm gonna kick their ass and make 'em clean it again. Tell Chet I said so. Somehow, I feel like you two would be the main culprits."

"Mike, I'm wounded. I would never do such a thing."

The look Mike gave him should have explained everything. Johnny smirked, carefully skirting Mike's freshly mopped floor to get into the kitchen. Mike didn't think the kitchen would be Chet's first choice for a messy prank, though, since that was Marco's duty. The dorm, however, might be fair game since that was theirs. He just hoped his bunk wouldn't be collateral damage.

Cap managed to keep everyone moderately busy with little drills and some paperwork, as well as cleaning the apparatus thoroughly. Mike was ready to spend some quality time with Big Red, but unfortunately, Cap had other plans for him: helping with paperwork. This did not particularly excite Mike, but he wasn't going to tell his captain no.

"So… what've we got here, Cap?" Mike asked, less than thrilled.

"Just wanna take the opportunity to get everything sorted and filed while we have the time and figured two heads were better than one."

"And what did I do to deserve this again?"

"Very funny, Mike. Forgive me for taking you away from manual labor."

"Never. I love manual labor."

"Shut up and help me out," Cap told him good-naturedly, "Here, start with these reports…"

Mike sighed but did as he was asked, working as efficiently on the paperwork as he did everything else. The two senior firemen made small talk when necessary, but neither really spoke until about ten minutes in when Cap bluntly asked, "Have you ever thought about takin' the captain's exam, Mike?"

He wasn't entirely surprised by the question. Really, it was only a matter of time. He shrugged, shuffled some papers, said, "I-… I suppose I've thought about it."

"Just thought about it?"

"Yeah… not seriously, though, Cap. I just-… I've always wanted to be an engineer. I love this job. I get to work with my hands and think on my feet and help people. I like it."

"You get to do all that as a captain, too. It's not like I sit around twiddlin' my thumbs all day."

"I know, I know… but this is really what I enjoy right now," Mike explained, "I'm happy in this position, with the amount of responsibility I have, the work I do, everything. I'm happy at this station, too, with all you guys. It's not that I never wanna move up the ladder, but for now… I'm happy."

Cap studied him for a long moment, finally said, "Just wanted to be sure. Y'know, Mike, when you do decide to move up one day, you're gonna be a great captain."

"Thanks, Cap. I really appreciate it."

They finished their paperwork in relative silence, Mike working quickly so he could finish and go out to Big Red before Marco and Chet were done. He meant it when he said he loved manual labor. He loved working with his hands, always preferred it to paperwork. Cooking, cleaning, welding, mechanics, even the sign language he was taught since birth, all his favorite things required him to use his hands. Cap took pity on him after another fifteen minutes and let him go out into the bay.

The engine was called out to a structure fire that turned out to be a false alarm, though the police soon arrived to seize a great deal of marijuana and arrest two people. At least that had been interesting.

"I dunno know why anyone would wanna smoke pot," Mike commented at the station.

" 'Cause it makes ya feel good," Chet replied, "Just makes ya kinda chill and mellow… and hungry."

"No, I guess I can understand that part… but it smells awful. Smells like, I dunno, skunk and armpits or somethin'."

Johnny nearly spit out his milk, and both Marco and Chet snorted loudly.

"What? Am I wrong?"

"Nope… nope, can't say you are, Stoker," Chet agreed, still laughing.

Johnny and Roy got a run after that, leaving the other firemen in the station once more. Chet disappeared momentarily, presumably to set some kind of prank for Johnny, however, Marco followed him and led him back to the day room. Thoroughly bored, Mike said, "C'mon, guys, let's go outside and do somethin' fun. I'm gonna lose my mind if I hafta sit in here much longer. Don't we have a football around here?"

They were out back in the parking lot when the squad returned. Routine run. Nothing special. Johnny joined them in tossing around the football until Marco produced a soccer ball. He tried to teach them some simple tricks. Mike and Chet were fairly clumsy, but Johnny picked them up rather quickly.

"Roy's not makin' you fill out paperwork, Gage?" Chet asked.

"Nah, he knows I don't like bein' cooped up with that stuff on a day like this. I'll only sit in there and complain until he lets me go, and not even 'cause I mean to. I just really love bein' outside. I'm not meant to be indoors for too long. Comes from growin' up on a ranch, I guess…"

Mike stepped aside and watched as Marco and Johnny tried to teach Chet some more soccer moves, watched the muscles play under Marco's uniform shirt, just visible enough for Mike to enjoy.

"What, c'mon, Stoker, you just gonna sit there, or can we play a 'lil two-on-two?"

Johnny grinned at him as he got up, tossing him the soccer ball and saying, "Alright, me and Chet versus you and Marco."

"Sounds fair to me. Let's play, fellas."

xXxXx

"A moustache?" Mike asked incredulously, staring at Marco.

Chet and Cap snorted. Johnny and Roy were out on a run, accident involving a bicyclist, leaving their shiftmates at the station with a B-movie on TV.

"Yeah, a moustache," Marco shrugged, "What's the big deal? I'm thinkin' of growin' one."

Mike sputtered quietly, much to Marco's amusement. _He can't argue in public when Chet's the only one who knows about us._ It was fun to watch his lover struggle with a proper argument to use in front of Cap. Chet spoke up, "Good for you, Marco. I think you oughta go for it. A moustache adds an air of authority to a guy's face, makes a guy look attractive and mysterious to the ladies."

He winked, obviously knowing Marco wasn't exactly concerned with what the ladies thought.

"Is that right?" Cap asked, "So, Chet, are you gonna grow one, too?"

"Uh huh, very funny, Cap, very funny…"

Cap smirked, turned to Marco, said, "Well, Marco, it's your face. You can grow anything on it you like, I suppose, as long as it's within regulation, of course."

Mike's face was pink, his lips pressed together, clearly trying not to say anything. Chet was trying not to laugh. After a moment, they managed to return their attentions to the movie, something with robots and a terrible script and worse special effects.

"There's always a romance in these things," Mike commented near the end of the movie, "and it never makes any sense. These characters meet, and two days later, they're plannin' marriage and babies and- ugh! It's ridiculous."

"What do you mean?" Marco asked, "I think it's nice."

"Oh, Marco, c'mon- look… this movie is a prime example. What point did that whole romantic subplot serve? He wasn't even the one who saved her at the end of the movie."

"The invincible death robot really put things in perspective," Chet smirked.

"Like anybody is gonna live through an attack by a death robot and then immediately wanna get married and have a family," Mike told them, "It's ridiculous."

"Is he like this all the time?" Cap asked Marco quietly.

"Pretty much."

"I heard that."

"Hey hey hey, fellas," Johnny greeted them, he and Roy returning from their run, "How was the flick?"

"The happy couple saved the day, as usual," Marco answered, "How was the r-?"

"Thought you'd never ask," Johnny said excitedly, perching in his chair, "Now, you heard the call, accident involving a bicycle, right? Of course you did. Now, what does that usually mean?"

"Drunk bicyclist?"

"Drunk driver hits bicyclist?"

"Drunk bicyclist hits someone or something?"

"Uh… drunk bicyclist attacked by invincible death robots?"

"Usually, yeah. Not tonight. Guy was DOA definitely," Johnny replied.

"How?" Cap asked.

"Well," Roy interjected, "he had a flashlight impaled through his head."

" _What_?"

"Aw, Roy, I wanted to tell that part."

"Sorry, I got kinda ahead of myself. Just tell the rest. Give the details."

"Fine- Well- Okay, so we rolled up on the scene, and Vince is there, lookin' for all the world like he's tryin' not to laugh. Now, Vince is stoic, never laughs at anything on the job, so we're wonderin' what in the hell is so funny. Then we find out. Apparently, this fella tried to commit a robbery and fled on the bike, but he left his flashlight in his mouth. He hit a rock, went over the handlebars, and wham, bam, thank you ma'am. That was it. That flashlight went clean through the back of his mouth into the base of his skull. Dead immediately."

"Ooh, that's rough," Chet grimaced, "Was the flashlight still on?"

"That's your question?"

"What? I feel like it's an important question! Like, was it just shinin' outta his mouth in your face?"

"It was, actually," Johnny answered, "It was kinda annoying."

"Yeah, and since it was evidence, we couldn't remove it," Roy added.

"Only thing is, Early isn't workin' tonight. He's gonna be mad he missed this one."

"Guess Dixie's gonna have to pass this one on to him. Say, is there another movie comin' on?" Roy asked, sitting down and grabbing the bowl of popcorn.

Johnny joined him, perched by him on another chair, shoved his hand into the popcorn bowl with Roy's. Marco watched his comrades for a moment. It was a strange dichotomy they had to contend with as firemen. On the one hand, they were expected to be tough and macho, to never be soft or weak or express themselves in any way considered to be 'feminine.' On the other hand, however, they couldn't be that way with victims. Victims needed comfort and softness in their time of need, as did their fellow firemen. _We're closer to each other than anyone else. We deserve to be soft with each other if that's what we want, what we need._ Firemen had emotions like anyone else. Why should they be expected to hide them?

Johnny and Roy were a good example. The two of them were the closest of partners, practically knew each other's thoughts, particularly when they were working. They cared about each other, worried about each other, sometimes fought, always had each other's back. Johnny seemed to have no qualms about slinging his arm around his partner's shoulders or stealing his coffee or eating off his plate, or doing the same to any of his shiftmates. It was expected. That was just Johnny.

Mike got up and wandered out back, and Marco decided to follow him. The engineer stood with his hands in his pockets, face upturned to the night sky. The stars were barely visible in the middle of the city. He could see lights reflected in Mike's eyes, saw them glimmer and twinkle and sparkle.

"You followin' me, Lopez?" he asked, smirking.

"Just makin' sure no one steals you."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, I've told you you're a good catch. Gotta make sure you stay my catch."

"That's nothin' you have to worry about… even if I worry someone'll come to steal you."

Marco smiled, repeated, "That's nothin' you have to worry about."

"Hey, fellas, it's lights out in a few minutes," Johnny called out.

xXxXx

Johnny held the door for his two friends, noting the identical smirks they wore. He was hoping they'd all be able to get a full night's sleep tonight, but he knew the chance was small. The paramedics were usually called out a couple of times a night, sometimes more, rarely never. It was just another part of the job. There were nights when the whole station was called out a few times a night, most often for MVAs. More than once they'd spent the night cleaning up a car accident, had done it in heat and cold and pouring rain. That was the firemen's life.

The three men headed into the locker room. Johnny gave an exaggerated yawn, earning quiet huffs of laughter from his friends. _Business as usual._ He liked business as usual, liked stability and comfort and familiarity. Maybe that was from growing up in a small town. _Nothin' ever really changes in a small 'cept people are born and people die. That's about it._ That was part of the reason he left the small town, to get some excitement in his life, and damn if excitement wasn't what he got.

Johnny looked around at his shiftmates, smiled, felt warmth bloom in his chest. Excitement was why he joined the fire department initially, because the job was exciting and a chick magnet (maybe even moreso than being a cowboy), but he'd really found a home here. He still cared about the excitement, certainly, and being a chick magnet didn't hurt, but they weren't the most important aspects of the job now. Now the camaraderie was the most important thing, feeling like he was part of something bigger, part of a family, part of a brotherhood. It felt nice.

Not too long after they hit their bunks, the tones dropped, the lights jarring them awake.

" _Station 51, Engine 36, man trapped at the sewage treatment plant…_ "

There was a slight pause in everyone pulling on their bunkers, followed by a collective groan. _Oh, this is gonna suck real bad._ Cap handed the address to Roy, who passed it on to Johnny. Both the engine and the squad hit their lights and sirens, pulling out onto the now-quiet street. Johnny looked in the side mirror and saw the engine keeping close behind. Mike held her steady, seemed to anticipate what the squad would do and follow suit. He was always impressed by Mike, had been from the first. _Can't dwell on that now… gotta rescue some guy from Shit Creek._

The two apparatus from 51s pulled up first and were greeted by a big, worried man, probably the foreman.

"It's Ronny," the foreman told them quickly, "he fell into one of the tanks in the primary process, hit his head and fell. C'mon, hurry, fellas…"

The stench was fairly overwhelming, combined waste and standing water and who knows what, but Johnny forced down any reaction. He had to. He was a professional, and he had to act like one. _We'll probably hafta shower six times to get the smell out, and who knows how we'll get it outta the turnouts later._ 36s pulled up as they were going in, and the foreman led them all to the tank. It was not a promising or pleasant sight they found.

The injured worker was facedown and largely submerged under God-only-knows-what. There appeared to be a layer of grease on top of the wastewater, and they could just barely see him floating there. The foreman swore. That worker was definitely dead, and Johnny prayed the man never regained consciousness before he drowned.

"Alright, fellas," Cap said, "Recovery. Here, Chet, help Johnny with that catchpole. Marco, get in position with Roy to recover the victim… you, too, Mike, help 'em out."

Johnny made sure to breathe through his nose as he stepped closer to the edge of the tank and lassoed the victim with the catchpole. He felt Chet behind him, holding the waistband of his bunkers in a death grip, could almost feel the lineman's heels dug in. He hooked a limb and tightened the cord around it. _Sorry this isn't more formal, pal… we just gotta get ya outta there._ Johnny and Chet took a few steps back, gripped the catchpole, started pulling the body in. Cap stepped up beside them, adding his strength to help them.

At the edge of the tank, Roy and Marco were ready to pull the body up, Mike on his haunches behind them, holding their bunkers like Chet held Johnny's moments ago. None of them wanted to go toppling into that sludge. Two guys from 36s held Mike for added protection.

Once they had the body close enough, Roy and Marco grabbed the catchpole, pulling it closer. They carefully got to their feet, still held by Mike and the guys from 36s, and pulled the body up onto the platform beside the tank. Roy took the man's pulse and found none, which was expected. Thick, brown liquid leaked from the man's mouth and nose. The foreman swore again. Johnny set up the biophone, ignoring the soft choking noise Mike made behind him.

"Rampart, this is Squad 51."

" _Squad 51, this is Rampart. Go ahead_ ," Early responded.

"Uh, Rampart, we have a male patient, age… approximately 30. He, uh, he sustained a head injury while working at the sewage treatment plant and fell into a tank. We have recovered the victim, but he presents with no pulse. There-There's liquid leaking from the nose and mouth, as well. We believe he drowned almost immediately, and the victim's foreman says he's been in the tank for over fifteen minutes. Uh… permission to call the coroner is requested."

It was an unusual request. The paramedics were not allowed to declare someone legally dead. Every patient was to be treated as a rescue, but sometimes, it was abundantly clear to all involved that the victim was not able to be revived. This was one of those cases. Even if they could get all that sludge out of his lungs, he was almost guaranteed to contract any number of horrible bacterial and viral infections from the noxious cocktail of excrement and chemical waste.

There was a brief pause before Early gave them the affirmative, asking everyone on the rescue to come in and make sure they were up to date on their shots and that they weren't in need of antibiotics. Roy, Mike, and Marco all simply disposed of their gloves, having handled the body the most, and Johnny was sure to douse his hands in alcohol to disinfect them, the other three following suit.

"Hey, Joe," Cap told 36s' captain, "why don't you guys go down to Rampart and get checked out? We'll wait here for the wagon. That way we won't back everything up."

"Good idea, Hank. See ya there."

The foremen left to guide the coroner in, leaving the six firemen with the body.

"Y'know," Chet spoke up, "this has got to be the most unattractive way to die."

"I'll second that."

xXxXx

For Chet, one of the hardest aspects of the job sometimes was remaining professional. That was not to say he couldn't do it or that he was immature. It was simply that some things were too much for a guy. Usually, it was because something was sad, however, sometimes it was because something was actually kind of funny. This one was kind of funny. He wouldn't say that out loud, of course. That would be too insensitive even for him. After all, there was a dead guy laying on the ground in front of him. _But how many people in the world are able to say they've actually seen a guy drown in shit?_ This wasn't exactly something that happened every day.

He and the others were pretty happy to see the coroner arrive, turning the body over with a series of signatures so they could get to Rampart. It was usually best to leave before Quincy got going, which they'd all learned the hard way at one time or another. The firemen all trooped out to the apparatus.

"Alright, fellas, let's get to Rampart."

"At least the smell didn't stick," Chet commented, "Coulda been a helluva lot worse."

"Yeah, it coulda," Johnny agreed, "I coulda fell into that shit."

"You know I wouldn't've let that happen, babe. I wouldn't want Roy to deal with that."

"With what?"

"Uh, with the smell, for one thing, and you whinin' the whole time and tellin' the story for the next three months."

"I would not either do that!"

"Oh, yes you would!"

Johnny opened his mouth to say something else, but Roy cut him off and hustled him into the squad, stopping them from arguing further. Chet laughed quietly, climbed up into the engine, settled into his seat behind Cap, watched Marco sit behind Mike. Marco turned in his seat to say something to Mike, who laughed in response. The sight made Chet smile.

Knowing about Marco and Mike was nice, being trusted felt nice, but sometimes it could be a bit difficult. He knew his own discomfort was nothing compared to theirs, however, it was still not fun to be unable to tell people how happy his two best friends were with each other. Johnny had been asking some questions and making some comments that made Chet a little nervous, that he had to deflect. Thankfully for Chet, he was already a master at deflecting uncomfortable questions and comments, so it wasn't necessarily hard, but he didn't enjoy it. He didn't like to outright lie to his friends.

Mike got them to Rampart in short order, and the crisp night air was enough to cleanse the stench of sewage from their noses. Still, Early had them all scrub down and advised them to shower and change at the station. _Thank God we're all up to date on our shots, anyway._ Early was smiling the whole time, as usual whens something interesting crossed his path.

"Doc, I know we're not really supposed to just ask for a coroner," Roy said, "but on top of him being pretty obviously dead, we didn't think you wanted that smell in here. A panic might've ensued."

"Oh, I agree. There are sometimes exceptions to the rule in cases like this. You two are good, so I tend to trust your judgment when it comes to things like this."

Johnny smiled next to Roy, a slight flush rising to his cheeks. Genuine praise often did that to him Chet had noticed. _I'm the same way._ He may not have shown it often, but Chet was very fond of Johnny. They were best friends to be sure, as were all the guys on the shift, but there was something about the paramedic. The two of them just got along. Chet and Johnny were very much alike, after all. They were both the same age, born only a few months apart, shared a few life experiences, liked a good prank every now and again. In public, they put up a bit of an antagonistic front, but really, they were as close as brothers.

Chet suppressed a shudder as he thought back to October. _Has it been six months already? I can still remember everything so clearly…_ He'd been the only one directly with Johnny on the way to Rampart after the snakebite, and Johnny had been pretty bad near the end of the ride. There were a few things he'd asked of Chet, things Chet knew he wasn't ready to do, like find his will and tell his aunt and pleaded with him not to leave him alone. _He's here. He's alive. He's right here._ Chet was not prepared to contemplate a world without Johnny Gage.

"Okay, fellas, c'mon," Cap said, "Back to the barn. The night's passing, and we all still hafta shower. C'mon, let's go…"

Everyone bid Early farewell and headed out to the apparatus. Once back at the station, once they showered and changed as per doctor's orders, they all went back to bed. Chet curled up on his bunk, settled in, heard a soft scratching at the dorm door, grinned. He got out of bed and went to the door, cracking it to let Boot in. The little mutt followed him to his bunk. Chet laid down again, scooting closer to the edge of the bunk, to allow Boot to jump up and sleep beside him, the dog curling up against his chest. He pulled the blanket up over both of them. _Dogs know when you need 'em._

The paramedics were called out alone overnight for a shooting victim. Chet wrapped an arm around Boot, scratching his ears idly. Shootings were never good. He wondered who'd been shot. Was it a man or a woman? Was it a kid? Was the wound very bad? Was the victim already dead? Chet shivered involuntarily. Boot made a soft noise and licked at his face briefly. The first hints of daylight were visible through the window, the inky black of the night sky giving way to dark purples and blues. Quiet sounds of movement reach Chet's ears, slightly muffled by the short wall separating Chet's bunk from Mike's. Mike was clearly not sleeping tonight.

 _Honestly, I'm not gonna sleep anymore, either._ Carefully, Chet sat up and stepped into his bunkers, picked up Boot, and carried him into the kitchen. Coffee was brewing.

"Thought Roy and Johnny might want some," Mike said very quietly, "We all know shootings are rough. Never know what happened, who your victim is, how bad they are…"

Chet hummed in agreement, still holding Boot as he sat next to Mike. The engineer gave a soft smile and pet the little mutt, lingering a moment on the soft ears. Their friends would smell the coffee soon and come to join them, unable to sleep when they knew the paramedics would need them. Chet whispered to the dog, "Now listen up, Boot. You be nice to Johnny when he comes back. We're all gonna be nice to him because he's on a hard run, and he's gonna need his friends, okay? You gonna be his friend, Boot, huh?"

He got a quiet 'boof' in reply. Mike chuckled. Chet turned his head to look out the window, saw purples and blues fading in the light of the rising sun, watched the slowly shifting lavender and pink and orange swirl in the clouds. _I wonder if that gunshot victim is alive. Did they get to see this sunrise? Did they live to see a new day?_ He swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat.

Marco and Cap wandered into the kitchen after a few minutes more, though no one touched the coffee, saving it for Johnny and Roy. The paramedics returned after about an hour, neither looking happy, Johnny looking worse. Roy came into the kitchen to get coffee, but Johnny merely poked his head in and went into the dorm. Chet carefully set Boot down and followed Johnny, hearing the little dog behind him. _That's it, Boot, come on…_

Johnny lay sideways across his bunk, arm draped over his face. Chet walked over and sat next to him, asking, "You okay, man? You wanna talk about it at all?"

The arm shifted, brown eyes peering up at him, and he shrugged, said, "What's there to talk about? Street girl got shot by a john, died in the ambulance. There was no reason for it 'cept for the john was drunk. Just dumb shit… it's heavy, y'know?"

Chet just nodded. After a moment, he offered, "We should hang out today, do somethin' fun. We can go get food or catch a movie or somethin' like that. Huh, Johnny, how's that sound?"

The hint of a smile crept onto Johnny's face. Boot jumped up onto the bunk with them, settling against Johnny's side, his tail wagging. The paramedic's smile grew.

"Yeah, Chet, that sounds good. Not sure which exactly, but we'll figure it out."

"Awesome. I'll leave you and Boot alone for a bit. Boot's a good dog. He knows when you're feelin' down, and he's good at makin' ya feel better. Trust me."

"Oh, I know. Boot's a great dog, even if he don't always like me. Which, I dunno why you don't like me, Boot. I like you. I love dogs…"

Chet smiled, gave Boot a little pat, left Johnny with the little mutt for the time being. Nothing particularly exciting happened for the rest of the shift, so when B-shift arrived, A-shift headed out. Johnny met Chet out by his van.

"Well, what are we gonna do today, Chet?"

"Whatever you wanna do, babe. It's all you."

"Right now? I think I wanna eat breakfast."

* * *

 _ **Many thanks to everyone who's been following this and keeping up with it. Love you all so much!**_


	19. Dream a Little Dream

_**Warnings: sex, injury, depictions of death (not all in the same scene, don't worry)**_

 _ **There's a lot going on in this one. Also, there's a lot of Spanish at the end. My preferred translation site for this is SpanishDict. I've found it works nicely, even if everything doesn't have a direct translation.**_

* * *

Marco pushed Mike onto the bed, both men panting and gasping against the other's lips. Mike ground up into him. They'd had a busy shift, not necessarily hard, but busy, and they still had some pent up energy. _If we're all fucked out, at least we'll sleep._ Marco quickly stripped his lover, methodical and careful, tossing his shirt to the floor. He moaned beneath him, hips bucking up to seek friction. Mike was already hard… not that Marco wasn't. He lowered his body to cover Mike's, moaned in pleasure, reached down to work on removing Mike's jeans. Before he could finish, Mike hooked a leg behind Marco's and flipped them with ease.

Mike's fingers were deft as they unbuttoned Marco's shirt and jeans. The jeans and shorts went to the floor. Warm lips worked their way down Marco's body, teeth biting occasionally, their path clear. His fingers gripped Mike's brown hair as his mouth started working Marco's cock, his head bobbing up and down along the shaft. He let Mike dictate what he wanted, and as soon as Mike released his hips, Marco let them thrust up, carefully fucking into the warm mouth. Mike's tongue worked sinfully around the head, one of his hands probing gently at Marco's ass. Marco writhed under his ministrations, unashamed at the moans dropping from his mouth. The sounds were wanton, pornographic, just what he knew Mike liked.

He watched with lidded eyes as Mike sucked him off. Marco reveled in the way his lover's lips looked wrapped around his length, the way his cheeks hollowed out, the way his jaw visibly relaxed when Marco fucked into his mouth. _So beautiful… mi hermoso ángel…_ He cried out when Mike's fingers brushed over his prostate, a shock of pleasure shooting up his spine. Marco gave Mike's hair a gentle but definite tug and pulled him up to kiss him.

"What are you tryin' to do to me, _querido_?" he asked huskily, "Tryin' to make me cum too fast?"

"No way, babe, never too fast… who would take care of me if you were all spent?"

"So it's all about you, then?"

"Of course. I thought you knew that."

Marco smirked, kissed his lover, twined his fingers through the brown hair.

"C'mon, Mike, _corazón_ … take your pants off," Marco told him, nipping at his jaw, "See, I wanna fuck you into the mattress, and that's hard to do when you're still wearin' pants."

"So forceful… I like it…"

Mike easily rolled off him and slowly stripped out of his jeans and underwear, knowing how it teased Marco. He felt himself salivate at the sight of the damp spot on the front of Mike shorts, the hard cock that sprang forth, the delicious pink flush gracing Mike's torso. Marco pulled him closer by his hips and lavished his abdomen with kisses, letting his teeth and tongue trace intricate patterns. Mike laughed quietly above him, the muscles of his belly jumping slightly under Marco's lips.

"Thought you wanted to fuck me into the mattress…"

"I do… just couldn't help myself after that 'lil striptease," Marco replied, giving Mike's cock a slow stroke, "You just looked so perfect."

"You al-always know just what to say, babe."

Marco smiled and leaned forward. Mike gasped as Marco put his mouth around his cock and worked his tongue around the head, holding Mike's hips still. They did this often, mixed in the tender and the rough when they made love, and Marco loved it. This was his way of taking care of Mike before things got a little rougher. He relaxed his throat and swallowed Mike to his base, causing his lover to suck in a sharp breath, fingertips pressing into the muscles of his shoulders. After a few moments, Marco pulled his lips off Mike's cock, kissed along the shaft, bit just above his hipbone, sucked a bruise into the flesh there. A soft, whining moan slipped from Mike's throat, and Marco's cock twitched in response.

Gripping Mike's hips, he quickly pulled him in and threw him to the bed, straddling him with ease. Calloused hands gripped Marco's thighs. Marco leaned over, kissing and nipping at Mike's throat, asking, "What do you want, _mi ángel_?"

"Want-… want you to fuck me…"

"Oh yeah?" Marco teased.

"Yeah," he breathed in reply, "You said you were gonna fuck me hard, and I'm still waitin'."

Marco rocked against him, grabbed his wrists, pinned them up beside his head. _If he has any second thoughts, now's the time to say so._ Mike moaned and bucked up into him, whined, "Please, babe…"

"Please, what? What do you want?"

"Please fuck me hard… fuck me into the mattress like you said."

He bit Mike just below the collarbone and got to his feet to retrieve the lube, telling Mike not to move as he slicked up his cock. That proved to be difficult. He could see Mike's fingers twitching. After a moment, Marco stepped closer, grabbed Mike's hips, and flipped him over so his ass was up. The position would be a little rough on Mike, as he wouldn't be able to touch himself, but Marco was prepared to remedy that situation when all was said and done.

Pleasure buzzed at the base of Marco's skull, hot lust pulsing through his veins. He knelt behind his lover, holding down his biceps, and thrust into him with a single, steady movement. Mike gave a low whine, squirming under him. The skin of his back was flushed a heated pink. Marco covered the muscular body with his own, pressed soft kisses about Mike's shoulders and neck, sucked a bruise into the skin between his shoulder blades, murmured, "So beautiful… _mi amor_ … _mi hermoso ángel_ … _mi corazón_ …"

"Mm… I love you, too," Mike replied, "Now move it."

One more kiss, and Marco rose to his knees, still inside his lover, and rolled his hips. Mike moaned softly. _That just won't do… won't do at all…_ He gripped Mike's hips and thrust hard this time, the slap of skin sounding through their bedroom along with a loud whimper from Mike. _That's better._ He thrust hard again. The mattress squeaked under their weight. Marco set an almost punishing pace for both of them, sweat beading at his forehead, Mike wonderfully hot around him. He watched the muscles of Mike's back shift and shudder, the muscles of his arms tense as he clutched the sheets. Mike moaned beneath him, "Yeah, babe, fuck my ass… oh yeah…"

A wave of heat rushed through Marco's body, interrupting his pace for a second. He adjusted his position, leaning over Mike once more, pinning his arms, using his legs to hold Mike's down.

"You want me to fuck your ass, huh?" Marco whispered hoarsely.

"God, yes… please fuck me hard…"

Marco gave a rough thrust, setting another harsh pace. Mike's body tensed, the muscles taut across his back, a gasp escaping his mouth. He pushed back against Marco's thrusts as best he could, rocking against him and the mattress. The muscles of Marco's buttocks and thighs burned with the pace of his fucking, but he could ignore it for the time being. He was having too much fun. His ears were ringing with slapping skin and whimpering moans and quiet grunts and squeaking springs: a lusty, erotic symphony. Heat spread through his belly.

He shoved an arm under Mike's chest, gripped his hair harshly in his other hand, fucked roughly into his lover as he let out a ragged moan. Marco breathed, "I'm gonna cum, Mike, _mi amor_ …"

"Fuck yeah, babe… want you to cum," Mike panted, "Cum in my ass, baby…"

A few rough thrusts was all it took. Marco's hips rolled jerkily through his orgasm, an explosive groan leaving his lips, and he loved the way his cum slicked Mike's inside. _Perfect… Beautiful_ … He pulled out after a moment, asking Mike to roll over onto his back. He was pleased to see the other man hadn't cum. Mike cried out when Marco swallowed his cock to its base, the organ heavy and heady on his tongue. Big hands grabbed his shoulders and gripped tight. Mike watched his every move, the muscles of his belly and thighs shivering with need, like he was trying not to cum to prolong his pleasure.

"Come on, babe," Marco gave his cock a long stroke, "your turn now," kissed his way to the base, "your turn to cum for me," licked a stripe up the underside, "Cum for me…"

One of Mike's hands gripped the back of Marco's head, his hips stuttering as he tried to hold them down. Marco relaxed his jaw and throat, trying to let Mike know what he wanted was okay. Mike groaned and fucked up into Marco's mouth. _I'm making him do this… I'm making him lose control like this…_ He slipped two fingers into Mike's hole, seeking his prostate. Mike swore loudly, his whole body jerking, the tip of his cock brushing the back of Marco's throat.

"Marco! Fuck!"

There was no way he was backing off now. He felt Mike's cock pulsing on his tongue, felt hot cum in his throat, felt the hand tighten in his hair. He took every last drop.

"Holy shit, Marco," Mike panted, pulling him up for a kiss, "That was incredible."

"Thank you. You weren't bad yourself," he smirked.

He kissed Mike languidly, exhaustion beginning to set in. Calloused fingers gently stroked his cheek.

"I mean it when I say I love you," Mike whispered, "I love you so much I don't know how I ever lived without you."

Warmth bloomed in Marco's chest.

"I love you, too. _Te adoro_ … _Te amo más que nada_ … _Mi querido, mi corazón_ …"

Mike smiled, his blue eyes bright and tired. _We'll shower and change the sheets later_. Marco hooked a leg around one of Mike's, draping an arm over him. His body felt heavy, sated, exhausted, so he ignored the odd sensation in the pit of his stomach. He chalked it up to his exhaustion and snuggled further into Mike's warmth.

xXxXx

"C'mon, Marco," Mike laughed, pushing his lover away half-heartedly, "babe, stop. We hafta go to work."

"I don't wanna go to work. Let's call in sick."

"We can't both call in sick."

"Why not? Roommates get each other sick all the time. Just say I got you sick."

"Nice try. I'm not sure my ass can take another pounding," Mike smirked.

"Who says I wanna pound your ass again? Maybe I just wanna cuddle all day."

"Marco, we cannot call out this late to cuddle all day. C'mon, let's go to work. I'll drive."

The day was already off to an odd start. Both Mike and Marco were dedicated to the job. Neither of them took sick days lightly. More than once over their respective careers they'd had to be sent home for coming in too sick to actually work and hated every minute of it. _Why doesn't he wanna go in today?_ They climbed up into the old red truck and headed to the station for work. Marco was unusually quiet the whole way there.

Actually, Marco was unusually quiet for most of the day, and Mike didn't like it, especially since Marco wasn't talking to him about it. That was the worst part. They've always been able to talk things through, to handle things together. _Why won't he tell me what's wrong?_

"Hey, man," Johnny asked in a low voice about halfway through the day, "Everything alright with you and Marco? Y'all are just quieter than usual. You fight or somethin'?"

"No, we didn't fight," Mike replied, "but-… well, he didn't wanna come in today. He joked about calling in sick and just staying home. He never does that."

"Yeah, that is kinda weird. Want me to talk to him?"

Part of Mike's brain told him that was a horrible idea, but it was quickly drowned out. _Johnny's a good kid, a good friend. He's not stupid._

"I'd appreciate it, Johnny."

Johnny offered him a lopsided smirk that did nothing to spur Mike's confidence. Less than an hour later, he dropped next to Mike on the couch. He was not smirking this time.

"Well, he told me what's up, Mike, but I'm not sure you're gonna believe it."

"Believe what?"

"Told me he didn't wanna say anything to you 'cause he didn't wanna worry you, first off, but I think you have a right to know seein' as how y'all are so close," Johnny replied quietly, "Marco said he didn't wanna come to work today 'cause he had a bad feelin' about today, feels like somethin' bad is gonna happen to one of us."

"Why does he think that?" Mike asked, "Did he say?"

Johnny shrugged, "Dunno exactly. He just said he had a bad feelin' about the shift today. Some people are like that, y'know… can sense bad things like some people sense rain…"

"But it's never happened before. I mean, bad stuff's happened to guys on our shift before, and Marco's never had one of these… feelings."

"And them people don't always smell the rain before it comes."

Mike sighed quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. _It isn't like Marco to be superstitious like this._ Sure, some of Marco's family members were superstitious, believed in visions and miracles and the like, but not Marco… not that Mike knew, anyway.

"Do you believe him, John?"

"Hell yeah, I believe him. Seen enough of that firsthand. Despite what the government tried to do, my people are still very spiritual. Plenty of people I know have had premonitions and stuff like that. Auntie had 'em sometimes. I've had one or two in my life, even, and I'll be honest, they usually mean somethin'."

He clapped Mike on the shoulder and rose to his feet, calling Roy's name, leaving Mike alone on the couch. _It was probably better when I didn't know._ 'Bad things' in this job ran the gamut, from a twisted ankle to death. Things could change in the blink of an eye, no warning whatsoever. Mike hoped it wouldn't be something serious. They were having a slow day, after all. _How much could go wrong on a slow day?_ The thought didn't stop a bubble of dread from forming in the pit of Mike's stomach.

"Johnny told you?"

Marco stood in front of him, hands in his pockets, his expression almost tired. Mike nodded. He sighed, scrubbed at his face, sat beside Mike on the couch, said, "You're worried."

"Yeah… yeah, I am."

"That's why I didn't wanna tell you. You worry."

"I know… but I wanna know things like this. Shit, I was worried when you wouldn't talk to me, though," Mike replied quietly, "We can always talk about anything, so when you don't tell me what's goin' on, it-… it really freaks me out, babe."

"Oh yeah, 'cause you've never done that to me before," Marco commented, and when Mike opened his mouth, he cut him off, saying, "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Look, I'm just-… I'm kinda freaked out myself just now. Mama called me last night and told me she didn't want me to come to work today. Said she had a dream. It wasn't specific or detailed, but she said it would be something really bad. I didn't think anything of it until I woke up this morning and felt the same way."

"Has she had dreams like that before? Were they right?"

Marco chewed his lip before nodding, saying, "She had one before Miguel died. That one was really specific, though. She had it on _Dia de los Angelitos_ , the day we remember any children in the family who've died. Miguel's face was painted like a _calavera_ , and he held a bunch of _cempasúchil_ … uh, marigolds. We use them to decorate altars during _Dia de Muertos_. A dream like that only means one thing."

Mike's stomach rolled uncomfortably.

"Did she say what was in this dream?"

"She said-… She saw me surrounded by black smoke in my turnout gear, and behind me stood Santa Muerte. Santa Muerte is kind of a-a folk saint, an angel of death, but She's good, answers prayers said to Her, can perform miracles," Marco explained softly, "A lot of poor people venerate Her, the poor and drug dealers and prostitutes, people in dangerous jobs. She's not like a Grim Reaper, though, even if She looks like one. She protects us."

"Then maybe-… maybe She's protecting you in that dream your mom had. Maybe there's nothing to worry about," Mike offered hopefully, searching his lover's eyes.

Marco let out a quiet huff, looked at his lap, whispered, "That's why I love you, Mike. You're always so hopeful, so upbeat. I want to believe that."

"Then believe it. I've always found optimism kept the worst of the worry at bay."

"Really? You're my worrywart. Are you really that optimistic?"

"You just said I am."

"I suppose I did. I guess I can try optimism for you."

Mike almost kissed him, only stopped himself about halfway there. The weight of worry in his stomach lessened, and Marco must have felt it because his expression brightened slightly. _That's better._ He supposed it was only natural, but he hated when Marco was upset in any way. Besides, it wasn't like him to be superstitious or to really believe in things like fortune telling or anything like that. _We'll get back to normal in no time at all. I know it._ He settled for patting Marco's knee.

Just after nine at night, the station was called out as part of a second alarm to a structure fire. The address used to be on the outskirts of the city once upon a time and was still fairly out of the way. Upon arrival, Mike noted the structure was most likely an old boarding house, maybe a multiple-family home in its later years. Now, there were boards over the windows and graffiti on the walls, the building having long since fallen into disuse save as a place for squatters and drug dealers. Some kids had probably lit it up for fun. Mike hoped none of the idiot kids were still trapped inside.

Mike easily swung the engine into position, saw Marco and Chet hop off and get to work, got out himself and ran around to get the pump working. Black smoke billowed into the sky, blocking out the stars and moon. Flames glowed in the broken windows, the fire having eaten away the plywood boards, now licking against the brick. The trick would be containment on this one. The structure was long since abandoned, and it would likely be determined that it was not worth risking lives for a building no one cared about. Let it burn, but nothing else. Mike slipped into his work. The sounds of the scene faded into a dull roar save for the orders of the incident commander and the engine's radio.

" _We're getting reports of a possible victim still inside. I need an interior assault and a paramedic team. Victim is reported as last seen on the second floor…_ "

Mike swore, trying to remember the other squad on scene, fairly sure 36s was there. _But we're fresh, the second alarm._ 36s was part of the first. Unease clawed at his gut. _You don't send in tired troops for a frontal assault. You send your reserves._ He swore again and adjusted his mental filter. He needed to hear what was going on. A chief's car pulled up to the scene. Cap came over the radio. He was going in with the rest of the shift on the search. Mike's stomach rolled. He listened.

xXxXx

"Lopez! You go with Gage and DeSoto up to the second floor!" Cap shouted through his air mask, "See if you can find that victim, but if it gets bad, get outta there, okay?"

They all agreed. Cap took the line from Marco, and he and Chet worked to clear a path for them. Inside the abandoned building, it was dark and hot, unbearably so, but Marco and Roy and Johnny pushed on toward a staircase to go up to the second floor. _Damned idiot kids just can't leave well enough alone. Gotta keep lightin' shit on fire for kicks and then get themselves trapped._ He could already feel the sweat pouring down his back.

The second floor was a long hallway of boarded up doors. Those rooms wouldn't need checking, at least. There were a few, however, that had the boards missing, that had already been broken into, that were accessible. The roar of the fire was deafening, but the sound wasn't enough to cover creaking wood.

"Fellas, we're gonna hafta get outta here soon!" Roy told them.

None of them wanted to leave a potential victim behind, but there was no sense in risking their lives. The heat and smoke were too much. The building was too unstable. Roy and Johnny led the way back to the stairs. Embers dripped from the ceiling, the burning building putting out some ominous noises. _We'll be fine. We just hafta get out to the engine and then it's containment. Nothin' to it at-_

Marco didn't even have time to scream.

xXxXx

Mike turned from his panel for a moment, looking at the still burning building. Anxiety roiled in his gut just knowing Marco was in there and Chet and Cap and everyone. _Everyone but me…as usual._ He returned to his panel. He couldn't afford to be distracted, not here, not now. There was a commotion behind him, firemen shouting and a cacophony of orders and information, passing to the captains and their men. Mike had the radio on the engine cranked up.

" _We have a man down inside the structure!_ " Cap called over the radio, his voice frantic beneath its veneer of authority, " _I repeat, I have a man down inside the structure due to a collapse! Requesting an additional team for rescue!_ "

He had to fight the choking fear and terror. _Don't think about it. Just focus on the panel._ Mike took a deep breath and concentrated on the work in front of him. Johnny was most likely the one down. No one attracted trouble like John Gage. Mike took another deep breath, carefully detached himself from the situation, focused his eyes forward and his ears on the radio. Surely, if the injured man was Marco, someone would've told him by now. The radio traffic told him nothing.

xXxXx

It was very dark. Marco was sure his eyes were open, as he could see some spots of light flickering above him. A moment passed before he remembered what happened (hopefully) moments before. _Structure fire. Stairs collapsed. That's it._ He tried to move and screamed as pain shot through his back, sharp and burning and horrible. At least his legs hurt, too, so he knew he wasn't paralyzed. _Thank God for small favors._ The roar of flames was still audible but no longer deafening. The smell of smoke was thick in the air, sat heavy in his nose and mouth and throat. His air mask had dislodged. A wave of panic swept over him. He screamed again when he tried to move his left arm, pain shooting from the forearm. _So that's broken… fuck._ His right felt intact, so he carefully moved it to his mask and the line to his air bottle.

"Fuck… son of a bitch…"

The line was sheared off. The air mask was useless. Marco simply pulled it off and let it fall. At this rate, he was going to die of smoke inhalation and probably chemical asphyxia anyway. His throat already burned from whatever was in the smoke. _I was right behind Johnny. They're looking for me._ Unless the building was too unstable or the fire too hot. He'd thought that earlier, after all. There was no point risking three lives for one, even another fireman. _The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. I think that's been said before._ He coughed, wracking his body with pain.

His ears strained to hear the sounds of rescue but to no avail. He had no way of knowing how long he'd been down there, if he was bleeding, if he was even being looked for. Death from smoke inhalation could be quick. _Hell, I might be dead already._ That thought brought a lump to his throat. Marco did not want to die yet. He had so much more to do in his life… so much left to do with Mike.

Marco couldn't hold back the sob. This wasn't fair. This was not his time. It couldn't be. Tears not caused by smoke welled in his eyes and spilled over. He couldn't bear the thought of leaving Mike, of knowing how upset he would be, of knowing Mike would be broken-hearted.

" _Por favor, Santa Muerte… Santa_ _Madre de las Lágrimas_ ," he prayed, recalling his mother's dream, pulling out the words learned long ago, " _Mira amablemente a todos los que sufren o luchar contra cualquier dificultad… Tened piedad de aquellos que están separados de alguien que aman. Tened piedad de la soledad de nuestros corazones. Tened piedad de la debilidad de nuestra fe y amor. Tened pie-piedad de aquellos que-que lloran, a-a-a los que oran, a lo-los que temen… Por favor, me ayudan a conseguir paz en mi corazón y mi alma… Estoy orando de mi corazón, Madre de Lágrimas… Ven-Vengo a ti, lleno de esperanza, de rodillas a tus pies, bajo su total protección, nada problemas o me afligen, y no necesito temer desgracia o enfermedad o cualquier otro dolor, por tu conmigo siempre y allí no es ningún mal que-que us-usted no puede a la derecha, y no puede no se dobla a la tuya. Ruego, desprecian no mis peticiones, pero en tu misericordia y me contestes… por-por favor, no me deja morir y dejar mi más querido en su pesar. Te-Te… Te doy gracias desde mi cor-corazón por tu esperanza y bondad… A-A-Amen…_ "

His vision was greying at the edges, and Marco knew unconsciousness would seen be upon him. He swore he saw Her, a skeletal Being in a black robe, Her bony hand reaching out to touch his face.

* * *

 _ **I tried to use this prayer very respectfully and in a way that it would potentially be used. Please let me if I have offended and let me know what I can do to remedy the situation.**_


	20. Stay Alive

_**Warnings: line of duty injury, blood, mentions of overdose/alcoholism**_

 _ **Just a reminder, I won't be posting next week due to my being in Munich! I hope to have the next chapter up on the 28th of December. Consulted an actual EMT for info on this one, but please let me know if anything seems wrong to you.**_

* * *

Johnny was not particularly surprised to hear the staircase collapse behind him. Truthfully, had the whole building come down around them, he would not have been particularly surprised. He hadn't really wanted to go in in the first place, felt that the perp/victim on scene hadn't been very sure there actually was anyone still inside, knew buildings like this didn't stay stable after burning for this long. He certainly didn't want Roy in there to get hurt. Roy had a wife and children. His loss would not be survivable for anyone, not by a long shot. Johnny turned around, expecting to see Marco grinning behind him.

Marco wasn't there. Instead, there was an enormous hole in the floor, embers still in the air. Johnny cried out and grabbed his partner, pointing at the hole and shouting, "Marco fell! He's gone!"

Even behind the air mask, he could see the fear and panic in Roy's eyes, could see the gears turning. _He's deciding what to do. He's thinking of how much help we need._ They couldn't do this one on their own. No matter how much they wanted to dive right in, they needed more people lest they became trapped, too.

"See if you can assess the situation," Roy told him, "I'll get Cap. Be careful."

Johnny nodded, watched Roy head further down the stairs to find Cap on that first floor, turned to check on his comrade. There was no hole above, so at least nothing had collapsed on top of him, but Johnny couldn't tell how far Marco had fallen. The pit was nearly pitch black, which meant there was no fire down there. _Smoke, though… There might be smoke down there._ As long as Marco had his air mask on, he could survive the smoke. It was just too dark to see anything, to hard to hear anything. Johnny swore. Roy returned after a few moments, Cap and Chet in tow. When Cap saw the hole in the stairs, he swore, too.

"We have a man down inside the structure!" he called over the H/T, obviously trying not to sound scared, "I repeat, I have a man down inside the structure due to a collapse! Requesting an additional team for rescue!"

Johnny was grateful Cap didn't announce Marco's name over the radio. He wasn't stupid, after all. He knew what was going on with Marco and Mike, had known for a little while now. When Mike's friend Starrett died, the engineer almost went down like a sack of rocks. _Not so long ago, I learned how it felt… basically watched Drew die right in front of me._ Perhaps it was callous to keep Mike in the dark for a while, but they still needed him to do his job. Johnny, for one, did not trust Mike to remain rational should he find out. He knew he wouldn't if the roles were reversed and it were someone he loved hurt.

"He's gotta be in the basement, Cap," Johnny explained, trying his best to be calm, "It's too dark to see anything down there, but I think I'd be able to see Marco if he were only a floor down on the next set of stairs. He's gotta be at least twenty feet down."

Cap swore again, said, "Alright, let's get into that basement. I want everyone to get a fresh air tank as quick as you can, and we'll get right in there. C'mon, let's go…"

He called for the extra air tanks to be ready for them, which would at least avoid questions from Mike. A couple guys from 36s and 127s were waiting to help them go in and dig Marco out. _Please, let him be alive._ They got into the basement with minor difficulty. A large pile of debris sat where most of the staircase used to be, and everyone dug in without hesitation. Johnny was certain he heard faint whispers, someone talking in a low, indistinct voice. He called out to Marco but got no response. He stepped up his efforts, digging faster, harder. Chet was working like a man possessed, wholly focused on the task at hand. _We need him to be alive for Mike, alive and fixable._

After an eternity of twenty minutes, they laid eyes on Marco, and Johnny's heart sank. Marco wasn't wearing his air mask. The equipment lay discarded in the debris, its line to the tank severed. Marco's face was pale, and his left arm lay at an odd angle. The lack of an air mask concerned Johnny more than anything else. _It's not too smoky down here, but if Marco breathed too much CO or cyanide, his injuries could last a while._ People with bad CO poisoning sometimes had lasting effects to their mental status, like poor memory and poor vision. _Hell, if he breathed too much cyanide, he's dead._ Johnny tried not to think about that. He climbed up to stabilize Marco's head so they could get a C-collar on him. Cap and a guy from 127s each took an arm, and Roy carefully took his legs.

Dread and fear sat heavy in Johnny's stomach. _There's no way Mike won't know now. He ain't stupid, after all._ He called Chet over, told him, "Listen, I'm gonna need you to go to Mike and let him know what's goin' on, preferably before we get out there. They're close, and I don't want him freakin' out, okay?"

The lineman hurried to do as he was bid, and Johnny did not envy him the task. He did not handle the grief of others well. He forcibly switched into paramedic mode, wanted to be able to think of Marco as another patient, knew he wouldn't be able to. There was a blanket waiting for them on the pavement by the squad, as well as the biophone, and Johnny sent silent thanks to whoever had put them out for them. Roy got on the biophone, "Rampart, we have a fireman injured in a fall. Male, aged thirty four. Apparent injury to the left forearm. Probable smoke inhalation. Patient is unconscious. Stand by for vital signs."

Johnny was still cutting Marco out of his turnout, going up each sleeve, starting with the injured arm, swearing when he saw it uncovered. Marco wasn't breathing well, even with oxygen.

"Alright… pulse is 140 and thready… respirations 8. Stand by for BP."

He fixed the cuff around the uninjured arm while Roy relayed the vitals.

"BP is 70/40. Patient also presents with stridor."

"Rampart, BP is 70/40. Patient also presents with stridor."

"Roy, I think he's got a radioulnar fracture… compound ulnar… right arm looks good… legs look good, I don't feel any deformities… spine, too…"

"Rampart wants us to stabilize the left arm."

"So, do I… Roy, his abdomen feels kinda rigid. He might have internal bleeding. It would explain him bein' so shocky."

"Rampart, we're feeling some rigidity in the abdomen, believe the patient may have internal bleeding. Patient remains unresponsive… Johnny, IV with Ringer's and transport when ready."

Johnny got the IV in place faster and better than he'd ever done. _I'm takin' good care of him, Mike, I promise._ Roy helped him load Marco onto the gurney and into the ambulance, passed him the biophone and drug box, and wished them both luck. Johnny hoped they wouldn't need it.

xXxXx

Chet tapped Cap on the shoulder, ready to take the lead on their line again, still waiting for Marco and Johnny and Roy to return from their search, still working to put out the remaining fire on the first floor. He prayed they would all be alright. _They will be alright. After all, God takes care of children, fools, and the United States. Firemen gotta fit in there somewhere._ He and Cap inched forward, the last of the fire almost gone. The muscles in Chet's shoulders and arms burned in a way he liked, straining against the power of the water in the line. He stepped forward, dug his heels in, stared down the last of the flames.

He let out a sigh of relief when he saw Roy, only to have it stick in his throat when Roy was the only one he saw. _Fuck, I thought I heard something go not long ago. Johnny's probably stuck… got his foot trapped or somethin' stupid like that._ While not an entirely comforting thought, it was certainly better than the alternatives.

"Roy, what is it, pal?" Cap asked.

"It's Marco. The stairs collapsed under him," Roy explained quickly, "Johnny's still there tryin' to see him. C'mon, Cap, we gotta get him out…"

Chet's stomach churned, but he followed Cap and Roy anyway. Where the stairs between the ground and second floor used to be, there was now a large, jagged hole. Cap swore and grabbed the H/T, calling for another rescue team to help. He did not mention Marco's name. _That might be for the best right now._ Someone would need to tell Mike soon; he deserved to know. It was entirely possible that Chet was the only one who absolutely knew the full extent of Marco and Mike's relationship. Telling Mike would have to wait, however. Their focus now had to be on getting Marco to safety.

"He's gotta be in the basement, Cap," Johnny told them, trying to sound calm and not quite succeeding, "It's too dark to see anything down there, but I think I'd be able to see Marco if he were only a floor down on the next set of stairs. He's gotta be at least twenty feet down."

Cap let slip another swear and said, "Alright, let's get into that basement. I want everyone to get a fresh air tank as quick as you can, and we'll get right in there. C'mon, let's go…"

He led Johnny and Roy out, and it took Chet a moment to follow them. He would need a fresh air tank, definitely, and the tanks were waiting for them at the entrance of the building, along with some guys from 36s and 127s to join the rescue. Chet quickly switched tanks, waited for the others impatiently, couldn't stand still. _It shoulda been me. Cap shoulda sent me and Johnny, not Roy with his family, not Marco with Mike… that's work for single guys._ Time was passing. Five minutes had already gone by since Roy told them Marco fell, and Marco fell at least two minutes before that.

As soon as they got to the pile, Chet began ripping debris away. Marco was his partner, one of his best friends in the whole world, and he would be damned if he gave him up without a fight. His muscles were already burning and sore from holding a line, felt worse now. Sweat poured down his face and neck and back. His breath came in heavy pants. Even his fingers ached, but he couldn't stop now. Johnny was digging just as hard.

Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes had passed since someone had last laid eyes on Marco, and things did not look good when they finally found him. Marco had discarded his air mask, the piece of equipment useless anyway with the hose sheared off like that. He was looking far too pale, and his left arm certainly looked broken to Chet. Johnny climbed up on the debris to check Marco's head and neck and stabilize them. Chet hung back, didn't help carry him, knew he would be given another task shortly. Sure enough, Johnny called him over as they carried Marco out from the basement.

"Listen," Johnny told him, "I'm gonna need you to go to Mike and let him know what's goin' on, preferably before we get out there. They're close, and I don't want him freakin' out, okay?"

Chet almost snorted. _Babe, close doesn't even begin to cover it._ He hurried off to do as he was asked, moving quickly to get to Mike first, finding their faithful engineer at his post. Chet slowed. Something in him blanched at being the bearer of bad news, especially when he'd had to do it before. He took a brief moment to remove his helmet and air tank, pulled in a deep breath, let out a sigh.

"Hey, Chet, what happened?" Mike asked, concerned, "I think I heard someone fell? Was it Johnny?"

"No… no, uh, it wasn't John. It- Are the pumps shut off?"

"Yeah, why?"

His stomach churned. He could see Mike starting to put two and two together, wanting to deny it, could see he knew who fell and was praying Chet would refute it. Anger and denial and fear all fought in the blue eyes. Chet sighed again, said quietly, "Marco went through the stairs. They're bringin' him up now to work on him."

The color drained from Mike's face, and Chet quickly added, "He's alive. I saw him, and I promise you he's alive. Just-…he doesn't look good. Now, Johnny and Roy are workin' on him. You know they're gonna give him the best care he could get in the field… and when they take him to Rampart, he'll get the best care he could get in a hospital. He'll be okay. I know it."

Mike still looked like his world was coming apart around him. Chet had to lunge to stop him from running over, his sore muscles burning once more as he held Mike back.

"Stop!" he hissed as Mike struggled in his arms, "Mi-! Fuck, Mike, stop! You can't! Everyone is watching! There are too many crews here, and they'll get suspicious! I told ya, Johnny and Roy are takin' care of him, and he's gonna be just fine, okay?"

A moment passed before Mike actually stopped struggling and carefully pulled away from Chet to sit on the running board.

"How-… How bad was he? What happened?"

Mike's voice sounded broken and brittle, and it sent a stab of pain into Chet's gut. He sat next to Mike, explained, "Looked like the stairs between the ground and second floors gave way… just a big ass hole. The momentum of him fallin' probably sent him through the basement stairs, too. We dug through too much shit, but at least nothing fell on top of him. Hose for his air mask was sheared off… Musta took it off at one point… uh, his left arm looked broken, too. There wasn't much else I could tell. You'll get more from John and Roy at Rampart, I'm sure."

Chet felt it in his very soul. He knew Marco would survive, would make it through this ordeal and thrive on the other side of it, and he knew it would be because of Mike. A wave of envy rose up inside him, one he forced himself to quell. This was neither the time nor the place. _Besides, they're both so good and kind, they deserve each other, someone just as good as they are. I don't deserve someone half as good._ Chet swallowed against a sudden lump in his throat.

"Everything's gonna be okay," he told Mike again, his voice soft and low, "It has to be. I mean, you guys have somethin' no one else really has. This is true love you guys have. That doesn't happen every day, Mike."

Mike gave a loud sniff beside him. _Marco will be okay. He has to be._ The sirens of the ambulance wailed, followed by those of the squad. Marco was on his way to Rampart. Mike sniffed again.

xXxXx

Hank watched the ambulance and squad speed off into the night, taking three of his men, one of them unaware of his journey. A hand came to rest on his shoulder. The battalion chief stood there, looking up at him. _He understands. I know he does._

"You and your men get on down to Rampart," the chief told him, "Things look pretty well handled here. I think we can let you go, Hank. You let me know when he's stable, alright?"

"Yessir… Thanks, Chief."

"You're very welcome. Now get outta here."

The chief walked away, calling out to the captain at 127s. Hank sighed, ran a hand through his hair, looked for the two remaining members of his shift. He remembered Johnny calling Chet over and then Chet running off. _Someone needed to tell Mike._ It made sense for Chet to tell Mike. They were good friends, and Marco was Chet's partner, after all.

Hank found the two firemen exactly where he expected them to be, sitting on the engine's running board. Chet looked up at him when he stepped closer; Mike did not. The engineer continued to stare at the asphalt, was almost unnaturally still. Hank's stomach rolled. Mike and Marco did their best to avoid suspicion, but Hank knew that whatever kind of relationship they had ran much deeper than friendship. He was neither blind nor stupid. If he was being perfectly honest, it was not the first time he's seen something like this. Only firemen really understood firemen, and sometimes they sought comfort in one another. He'd really only heard of them as brief flings, short affairs of convenience that ended when one of the involved parties landed a girlfriend or wife. What Mike and Marco had, however, was far more than one of these casual affairs.

 _This just isn't fair._ Mike finally looked up when Hank laid a hand on his shoulder. His eyes were wet, his cheeks splotched with color. He looked utterly miserable. Hank gave his shoulder a squeeze, said quietly, "Everything's gonna be okay, pal. Marco's in the best hands, is receiving the best care. You know that. Everyone's fighting for him, fighting hard. Marco's gonna be fine."

Mike ducked his head again, pulled in a shuddering breath, clenched his fists atop his knees.

"C'mon, let's get to Rampart, fellas," Hank spoke up after a moment, "I know Roy and Johnny are waitin' with an update for us. Are you good to drive, Mike? It's okay if you're not."

"Uh… I-I think so. I think I can drive, Cap."

Hank merely raised an eyebrow.

"But it-…umm, it might be better if you drive."

"That's what I thought. C'mon, fellas, load up…"

Just as Hank had said, Roy and Johnny were waiting for them, and while they didn't look grim, they didn't look overly pleased, either.

"What's the word, Roy?" Hank asked.

"All in all, Marco's pretty lucky. No head or spinal injuries, no CO or cyanide poisoning, at least not bad, anyway. Definite radioulnar compound fracture, some smoke inhalation damage but not serious… I think the ruptured spleen was his worst injury, caused some internal bleeding. Brackett's workin' on him now to make sure they get everything. Uh, someone from ortho is there to set the arm, too."

"Biggest issue was the blood loss from the broken arm and ruptured spleen," Johnny added, "He was in shock by the time we got to him… prob'ly got to him just in time, honestly."

Mike made a small noise, but everyone pretended not to notice. He deserved that much. Brackett had Marco in surgery, so the men of 51s had a long wait ahead of them. Surgery could last hours and hours. They could be here all night and into the next day. Hank gave a quiet sigh and scrubbed at his face. He hated this. He hated waiting. He hated the inevitable replays cycling through his mind's eye. He hated the what-ifs and alternate scenarios that followed, each one worse than the last. Every eye in the waiting room was on them, on the sweaty men in their dirty turnouts, wondering why they kept such a vigil but too afraid to ask.

By the time Brackett came out to talk to them, over four hours had passed since the 51s crew was reunited in the waiting room. It was just around two o'clock in the morning. None of them had slept. As soon as they saw Brackett, the five firemen rose to their feet and went to him, letting him lead them a little way from the waiting room. He looked tired, but at least he wore a faint smile.

"We've already sent him to the ICU," Brackett explained, "I'd like to keep him there for at least twenty-four hours, just to keep an eye on him. There's no reason he won't make a full recovery, but it'll be a month or two. There was damage to his spleen that caused some significant internal bleeding, but we only had to remove part of the spleen, which is good. That radioulnar fracture wasn't doing him any favors, either. Still, I have no doubts he'll recover just fine. He'll be begging us to leave in no time."

"Could we see him?" Mike asked.

"He's still out, but you fellas can check in on him. Follow me."

The five firemen trooped after Brackett, and Hank certainly felt better knowing Marco was in recovery. Mike was still tense, though. Hank could feel it, could see it. _Why, though? Marco's gonna be okay. Why is he still upset?_ The whole incident had been upsetting, to be sure. Hank would be lying if he said hadn't been affected. Perhaps once Mike saw Marco, he'd be okay. ICU certainly wasn't the best place to see a loved one… but at least it wasn't under a sheet.

Oddly, though, seeing Marco did nothing to improve Mike's mood. If anything, it worsened. Brackett didn't allow them into the room ("That's a sterile environment, and you're all filthy."), but they could see in. Marco was breathing on his own but was hooked up to a few machines, connected by tubes and wires, giving him fluids and medicine and showing readings. He still looked a little pale, but his color was much better than it had been. Seeing Marco's chest rise and fall gave Hank some comfort. The only one who still seemed upset was Mike.

Hank vividly remembered the time grief caused Mike to punch a mirror, and he'd seen the thin white scars on Mike's knuckles and arm that told him it wasn't the first such incident. Some people were like that. Grief made them angry at everything, caused them to lash out at anything within reach. Hank didn't really understand it himself. He was not like that in his grief, was quiet and forlorn, withdrew to be alone with his thoughts and memories. He did not understand that kind of rage, but he knew it had to be prevented.

Engine 51 was stood down for the rest of the shift, but Roy and Johnny weren't, so the squad was called out from the hospital for heart trouble. Hank watched them go, then suggested they do the same, saying, "Let's get back to the barn, you two. C'mon, Mike, Chet…"

A moment passed before Mike moved, as if he consciously had to tear himself away, had to use a great deal of effort to even move his gaze. Hank swallowed against the lump in his throat, stepped forward, settled a hand on Mike's shoulder.

"He's gonna be okay, right?"

Mike's voice was soft and brittle, and it made something twist painfully in Hank's chest.

"Yes, Mike, he'll be alright. Dr. Brackett said so, remember?"

They stood there a few moments longer, letting Mike look in on Marco some more. Finally, Hank squeezed Mike's shoulder to get his attention, muttered, "He'll be okay, pal… let's get back to the station."

"C'mon, Mike," Chet spoke up, "We'll go back to the station and try to get some rest. The visiting hours are over, anyway. We can sleep, we'll get some coffee, put our civvies on, and we can come back in the morning, bright and early. C'mon, babe, he'll be here when we come back…"

Those words seemed to work, pulling Mike from his reverie long enough for them to lead him out. _Big, strong firemen… we're always told to stow the emotions, be tough, be manly… but what happens when that's not possible?_ A fireman became close to the men on his shift. They were his brothers, his confidants, his closest friends. Sometimes, they knew more about a fireman than that man's own family. That did not mean Hank had any delusions that he knew everything about his men. Clearly, Mike and Marco had been keeping a major secret from him, and if he knew even a hundredth of Chet's life, he'd be amazed. Johnny and Roy were slightly more transparent, but men were entitled to their secrets. Hank had a few of his own, just like anyone else.

The ride back to the station was quiet. Mike was in the passenger seat, his head lolling against the window. Chet was silent behind them, unusual for him but not unheard of. As for Hank, even if he wanted to break the silence, he simply didn't know how.

xXxXx

"Mike? Why don't you come in and have some coffee?" Chet asked.

"I'm good."

"Well, I brought you a cup, anyway. Can get kinda chilly at night, y'know…"

He stepped up and handed Mike the coffee mug, carefully sitting beside him on the tailgate of his truck. He said nothing, knew Mike would talk when he was ready and not before, wanted to be there for him when he was.

"Chet?" Mike spoke up after a few minutes of silence, his voice quiet and uncertain, "Can I ask you… Can I ask you somethin' kinda personal? I'll understand if you say no."

"Depends on the kinda question, I guess."

"A-A while ago, you were tellin' me and Marco about… about your life, and you said you don't like to get close to people because people you love die. What did you mean?"

An uncomfortable weight settled in the pit of Chet's stomach. _S'pose it woulda come up sooner or later…_ He replied, "C'mon, man, look at my life. My family's dead-"

"I know that much, but-… but the way you said it… it sounded like you lost someone else."

Mike wasn't looking at him, and Chet was honestly kind of grateful for it. Every man had his secrets, but some were more than secrets. Some things were deep and dark and scary. Chet took a deep breath.

"There's been-… uh, there's been a-a few people, honestly. I mean, I was in the Army in Vietnam. War has casualties. People die. Sometimes it's someone you know, someone you're friends with. It's unavoidable… but once ya leave the warzone, you stop expecting it."

He picked up his head, and Mike was looking at him now, his eyes still sad and forlorn.

"Look, I don't wanna go in-depth or give ya a sob story, but since ya asked… I knew this woman… an incredible woman, Army nurse in 'Nam. We both saw some shit, and we were both a little fucked up when we came back… and I can't say either one of us handled it well. My, uh…" Chet paused, wet his lips, continued, "My coping mechanism was alcohol. Before I started at the Academy, I could drink a fifth of whiskey a day at least, sometimes even a whole handle. It was bad. Mellie took pills, sometimes with alcohol. Really, it was only a matter of time before one of us pushed our luck too far."

"What happened, Chet?" Mike asked softly.

"I got a wakeup call. She didn't."

He swallowed around the lump in his throat, remembering everything about that whole wretched scene as clear as day. _And it still has me fucked up…_

"Mike, listen," Chet said after a moment, his voice still thick, "my way of handlin' shit like this is not the healthy way of doin' things. I am not a role model for healthy coping mechanisms. Choosing to cut people out and just not form relationships outta fear is no way to go through life. Ya miss out on a lot. Trust me on this, okay? Don't do what I do."

He knew it felt like the easy way out when something bad happened. Trying to feel nothing seemed like a good idea. _Just cut ties and forget how to feel. It sure sounds easy… but no one tells ya how hard it really is._ He did not want Mike to ever know just how hard. Mike deserved to be happy, and his happiness hinged on Marco; the reverse was also true.

"Please, Mike, I'm begging you, don't do what I do. Don't push Marco away," he whispered.

Because if it were to come down to a choice between Marco and Mike, Chet didn't think he would be able to take sides.


	21. Push Comes to Shove

_**Warnings: language, poor coping mechanisms**_

 _ **Vacation was lovely and oodles of fun, but now it's back to work. If you're following along, please remember to leave a review, no matter how short or long, no matter if it's been said before.**_

* * *

Marco did not remember his first night in the hospital, though, technically, it wasn't night but very early morning by the time he was out of surgery and settled in ICU. He was still in the ICU when he woke up, extremely groggy, pain radiating through his arm and across his back and through his abdomen. It took him a moment to even realize he was in the hospital. _This could be Heaven. Santa Muerte was there. I was so sure she came to guide me…_ The pain, however, made him doubt that he was dead, and once he picked up on the sounds around him, he knew he was in Rampart… alone.

Daylight was visible in the window. He was certainly allowed visitors at this point, so where was Mike? _He should be here. I need him here._ His heart rate went up, and it was at that moment that Dixie came in.

"Morning, tiger," she smiled, "It's good to see you awake."

"Wha' happened?" Marco asked roughly, "Wha's-? Where's Mike?"

"You fell through the floor at that fire, and you were hurt pretty bad. Dr. Brackett had to fix up some internal injuries you had, and your arm was broken, too. Compound radioulnar. We were really worried about you for a while. I had a waiting room full of firemen."

She did not answer his question about Mike, and he noticed, groggy even as he was. Dixie always had a reason for whatever she did. Fear clawed into his chest. Maybe Mike was hurt, too. Maybe he went in to help him and was injured.

"Dix, please… where's Mike? Izze-?"

"Mike's fine. He's not hurt."

"Then-… then why isn't he here?"

Marco's voice sounded pitiful even to him. Dixie gave a little sigh and told him, "I don't know, Marco. I just don't know. Here, I'm gonna take your vitals…"

That meant Mike wasn't outside, either. Marco felt his lip tremble. It wasn't right. Mike should here with him, right at his side, like always. Even before they were together, they kept each other company in the hospital. _Maybe they'll come later. I've been asleep, after all._

"Alright, Marco," Dixie told him gently, "I'm gonna give you another dose of morphine to keep your pain down, and then Dr. Brackett said we should keep you in ICU for at least another twenty-four hours, then we'll move you to a recovery room and go from there. I'll go give Roy a call, too, and let him know you woke up so he can call everyone, but the morphine might put you out for a few hours again, okay?"

It wasn't exactly okay, but Marco didn't really have a choice. The pain was going up, and he knew his mental state wasn't helping. He tried to calm himself down. The morphine took care of that, however, better than he ever could. He hoped he would see Mike there beside him when he woke up in a few hours.

He didn't. Visiting hours were certainly over when he woke up again, dim streetlight peeking through the window. Marco felt high, felt warm and blurry and dizzy even though he was just lying in bed. Most of all, he felt lonely. His lip trembled again. Tears blurred his vision even worse than the morphine, rolled down his cheeks in hot streaks. He brought his uninjured hand up to his mouth in an attempt to stifle the noise. Dull pain throbbed in his abdomen and back as he tried to keep his sobs quiet.

"Marco, what is it? What hurts?"

Early stepped into the room, came to Marco's bedside, concern all over his face. The doctor settled a gentle hand on Marco's shoulder, and he queried again, "What is it, Marco?"

"I-I'm-… I feel so alone," Marco choked, "I don't wanna be alo-alone."

Fingers twitched against his shoulder. Early's voice was soft as he asked, "Why do you feel alone?"

"It's-… It's stupid."

"If it's upsetting you like this, it's not stupid. Please, I want to help."

Marco looked up at Early with blurred eyes. Just being in his presence was soothing, calming. _If anyone around here was an angel sent to Earth, it's Dr. Early._ Early was always kind and quiet if someone needed help, always seemed to know what someone needed to feel better, knew what they needed to hear.

"I just-… I just feel really alone," Marco told him, his voice quiet and brittle, "I woke up and… Both times I woke up today, I fel-felt like-… It-It's like I know no one came to see me and I just-"

Another sob snuck up on him, trying to force its way out. Early shushed him gently, said, "I don't think it's stupid, Marco. I think it makes perfect sense. Honestly, we've been shooing people away all day so you could rest properly. Otherwise, you would've had a stampede of family and friends in here, and you wouldn't be healing as well as you are now. I'm sorry it made you feel this way. Our intent was never to make you feel unloved or alone, only to make you well again. Even if we'd let the visitors in, you wouldn't have been much fun. I'll be sure to let visitors in tomorrow when we move you to recovery."

"You promise, doc?"

"I promise. Now, how are you feeling, physically? You had a close one…"

xXxXx

Mike woke with the sun in his old room at his parents' house. He came here yesterday after his shift ended, told only Cap where he was going, hadn't yet explained to his family why he was there. Obviously, they knew something was wrong, but no one had yet dared to broach the subject. One of his shiftmates would probably call later that day, asking if he would like to go to Rampart with them to see Marco, and he wasn't ready to answer yet.

He was actually still a little upset with his friends for hiding the truth from him during the rescue. No one told him Marco was the one wounded until he'd been pulled from the building, and Mike felt he had a right to be pissed off. The anger had crept up on him, had followed the shock and grief and fear, and though Chet had provided him the most comfort, it was Chet he was the most upset with. Chet knew about Mike and Marco. He knew what Marco meant to him more than anyone else. He should've told Mike sooner so he would have had a chance to help. Mike, above anything, did not like having information withheld from him. He never has.

There's a knock on his door, and he realized with a start he'd just been laying in bed for almost three hours. The door opened slowly, his mother poking her head in. When she saw he was awake, she stepped in and came to sit by him on his bed. She used his name sign, making the letter 'M' and brought it to her cheek twisting it once, combining the first letter of his name with the sign for 'shy'. She finally signed, - _Tell me what's wrong. Please._ -

He didn't reply at first. He heard his mom sigh.

- _Did you fight with Marco?_ -

- _No, Mom, no fight,_ \- he replied, hesitated, added, - _Marco got hurt on our last shift._ -

His mom's eyebrows contracted, concern etched in her face, - _Is he alright?_ -

- _The doctor said he would recover fine, but he was hurt bad. He's at Rampart._ -

- _And you're not? Why are you here?_ -

- _I'm upset._ -

She cocked her head to the side, and it was Mike's turn to sigh. He sat up more fully, running his hand through his hair. After a moment, he explained, - _I'm angry with my friends. They didn't tell me Marco was hurt until they brought him out of the building._ -

- _Maybe they had a reason. Maybe they didn't want you to worry… or do something stupid._ -

- _But I love him. I wanted to help him. They treated me like a kid._ -

- _Don't punish Marco, though. He loves you, too, and he needs you._ -

Mike felt tears burn in his eyes. He didn't want to hurt Marco, would die before hurting him, but this had all been too much.

- _Mom… I'm scared._ -

She didn't reply, so he continued, - _This is the closest I've come to losing him since we've been together. I don't want to lose him. I can't lose him._ -

- _Then you should tell him that, as if he doesn't know. No one ever said love was easy… and it's never going to be easy for the two of you, for many reasons. This is only a hurdle._ -

Her faith in them was wonderful, but Mike was beginning to wonder if it was misplaced. Everything had gone so well for so long that Mike almost forgot there were hazards associated with their career, that either one could feasibly die on any given shift, that Marco was more likely to go than he was. Mike's lip trembled, his emotions ready to run wild now.

He wanted to go sit with his boyfriend in Rampart, wanted to hold his hand and kiss his lips and just be there, wanted to more than anything… but he was scared. Such a visit would be a powerful reminder of Marco's mortality. He would see the healing wounds and the broken arm and the bruises and be reminded that Marco, who he loved more than anything, could have died not even thirty-six hours ago. Mike's hands stuttered out, - _Mom… Mom, I don't know if I can do this anymore. I can't lose him. I can't watch him get hurt again._ -

- _You've always known it could be a possibility. You're firemen. You get hurt. You've both been hurt before._ -

- _But not like this! Marco almost died!_ -

His mom sighed, told him, - _I can't tell you what to do. You do what you feel is right, Mike. You trust yourself. Trust your instincts._ -

- _What if-? What I'm wrong?_ -

- _You won't be. Now, come down for breakfast. You need to eat._ -

- _Later, Mom…_ -

She smiled at him but still looked a little sad anyway. He felt her gentle hand on his cheek. _I'm not coming down for breakfast and she knows it._ His mom got up and went to the door, stopped in the doorway, crossed her arms over her chest and pointed at Mike. He smiled and mimicked her gesture. _Love you, too._ When she shut the door, however, Mike let his smile fall, his lip trembling once more. He needed some time alone to think. Mike needed to figure out which was worse: a world where Marco was alive and out of reach or one where he was gone for good.

xXxXx

Only when he pulled up in front of Mike's parents' house did Chet really begin to think he'd made a rash decision, but he needed to try and fix this. Mike and Marco were his best friends (two of them, anyway), and he did not want them to be unhappy. Two days ago, Marco was injured falling through a set of stairs. He would hopefully be discharged soon, and he would need someone to help take care of him. Mike was by far the best candidate… though apparently an unwilling one at this point. _We go back on shift in two days. I want this fixed by then._ Perhaps he wasn't the best candidate to fix it, but he'd be damned if he didn't try.

The girl who answered the door was a teenager with long auburn hair, a dusting of freckles, and eyes a bright, golden brown. She looked at him rather quizzically, asking, "Can I help you?"

"Possibly. Is Mike Stoker here?"

"Who wants to know?"

"I'm Chet Kelly. I work with Mike at Station 51. I-uh… I'm kinda worried about him, and he wasn't anywhere else. I figured he might be here… plus, I can see his truck in the driveway."

The girl squinted at him a little before finally saying, "I guess you can come in for a minute. Follow me," and stepping aside to let him in, continuing, "You can wait here in the sitting room while I get my grandma. Umm… just don't move, okay?"

"I'll be right here."

She hurried off, giving Chet time to look around. _I never knew Mike grew up like this._ The sitting room alone was elegant beyond anything Chet had ever seen: fine tile floors, a large fireplace, a crystal chandelier. Photographs adorned the mantelpiece almost to excess, covering nearly every available flat surface. It was endearing, honestly. His mother kept photographs in their apartment once upon a time, but not like this.

Chet heard footsteps and turned. The girl returned with a woman with greying hair and a lightly-lined face. They both had their hands up, weaving different shapes. _Sign language. That's right. Mike's parents are deaf._ He hadn't seen a hearing aid on the girl, and she'd answered him well enough, so he assumed she wasn't deaf. He politely got to his feet as they approached and held out his hand to the older woman. The girl spoke up, "I'm Rose Carlisle. This is my grandma, Susan Stoker, and Mike is my uncle."

"It's nice to meet you. I'm Chet Kelly. I work with Mike and Marco."

Mrs. Stoker began signing, and Rose translated, "How is Marco doing?"

"He's okay, I guess. He's healin' nicely, and Dr. Brackett says he oughta be able to go home in a couple days. That's, uh… That's why I'm here. See, Mike and Marco-"

"I know all about Mike and Marco. Don't worry about that."

"Well, I went to see Marco this morning, and he was really upset because Mike hasn't come to see him yet," Chet explained, "I was hopin' I'd be able to talk to him, convince him to come to Rampart."

Mrs. Stoker looked sad, shook her head faintly. Rose translated, "I can let you try to convince him, but I'm not sure how much good it'll do. You know Mike, and so you know he can be stubborn. I don't know if he's made up his mind yet, but if it has, it won't be easy to change."

"I'm willing to try. Please… I wanna talk to him, make sure he's okay."

This time, Rose waited until Mrs. Stoker was done signing to speak.

"He's still in his room. Follow me," she said, getting to her feet and leading Chet to a set of wide stairs, "Honestly, I'm a little worried about Uncle Mike. He's been really down since Uncle Marco got hurt. He's barely left his room at all."

She stepped up and knocked on a door, calling, "Uncle Mike? Uncle Mike, it's Rosie."

"What is it, Rosie?"

"There's someone here to see you."

"Tell 'em I'm not here."

"That's not gonna work, Mike," Chet told him through the door, "I already know you're here."

"Go away, Chet."

"No way. I gotta talk to ya."

"Can't it wait?"

"Hell no. Now, you know I'm just as stubborn as you are, probably more, so you know I'm more than willing to sit here 'til you decide to talk to me."

There was a long pause.

"Door's open, Chet."

 _Finally…_ Chet pushed open the door and carefully closed it behind him. Mike was sitting on his bed, still in only his pajama pants even though it was early afternoon. The room itself was understated, and though it had probably been his childhood room, there was no evidence of it. Everything was in shades of dark green.

"Why are you here, Chet?" Mike asked impatiently.

"Why else would I be here?"

He was sure he heard Mike roll his eyes. He started, "Look, Chet, I dunno why you're-"

"Like hell you don't know why I'm here," Chet spat, rounding on his friend suddenly, "Marco's been in the hospital for over two days now, and you haven't been there. I went and saw him before you did, and you know what? He's lonely. He's sad. He's scared. He even asked me if we were lyin' to him about you bein' okay 'cause he's sure the only reason you haven't been there is because you're dead!"

"Chet, stop-!"

"No! I won't! He was crying, Mike! I had to sit there and see him cry because someone who's supposed to love him more than anything won't some see him in the fuckin' hospital!"

"Stop it!"

Chet didn't quite know what happened until it was over. He must have made a loud noise when Mike knocked him to the floor, loud enough for Rose to hear and Mrs. Stoker to feel. Mike had him pinned, the heels of his hands pressing into Chet's shoulders, the rest of his weight pressing on his thighs. He'd never seen Mike so angry before. He hadn't thought it would be quite this scary. Chet swallowed, wet his lips, waited.

"Mike, please," he said finally when Mike didn't speak, "You're actin' like I don't get it when you know I do."

There was a long moment in which neither of them moved except for Mike's heaving chest. The blue eyes bored into Chet's during the silence. Just as quickly as he took Chet down, Mike got to his feet and went back to his bed to sit down. Chet slowly pushed himself up, not wanting to startle Mike. _We're still alone, so Rose and Mrs. Stoker must just wanna let us hash it out._ He sat by Mike. A warm breeze blew through the by the bed, smelled clean and fresh.

"I'm sorry, Mike," Chet said softly, "I didn't mean to- well, to sound mean. I just don't get it, man."

"You told me you did. You told me you do the same thing."

"Do what?"

"Distance yourself."

"Yeah, I do it, but- Jesus, Mike, I told you not to. I'm pretty fucked up, after all. I'm not a role model for healthy relationships by any stretch. Tell me what's goin' on, babe. Why are you doin' this?" Chet asked.

"I just-… I'm scared, Chet," he admitted, his voice quiet, "I almost lost him. I-I love him so much… so much I can't imagine life without him anymore. Just like that, in less than ten minutes, it was almost all over. I just can't-"

His voice broke off. Chet reached out and put a hand on his bicep, squeezing gently. He got the sinking feeling he might be getting a repeat of what happened that morning when he visited Marco. Tears sat in Mike's eyes.

"I'm sorry…" Mike spoke up after a moment, "I'm just scared. I don't wanna lose him."

"I know you don't wanna lose him, but what do you think's gonna happen if you push him away, huh?"

"I'm-I'm not pushing him-"

"You are. I know what pushing away looks like. I'm an expert, remember?" Chet told him, sighed, continued in a gentler voice, "Look, I don't want you to lose Marco, either. I care about both of you a whole lot. I want you to be happy, okay? I'm gonna tell ya right now, if you push him into walkin' away, no one is gonna be happy, least of all you."

Mike's lip trembled. He refused to look at Chet.

"How-? Umm… how is he? Marco?"

His voice was quiet and fearful and maybe a bit sad.

Chet shrugged, "He's recovering. He really wasn't hurt as bad as we thought. I mean, he had that internal bleeding from the ruptured spleen, but that was the worst of it, I think. Really, we're lucky he didn't breathe in too many chemicals, didn't breathe a ton of CO or cyanide. He'd be pretty fucked if he did. He's just-… Marco's really upset. Like I said, he thinks you're hurt bad and we won't tell him."

"And you saw him?"

"Yeah, this morning. He was sad… cried some, like I said. I think Johnny's there with him now, but it's you he wants to see."

Mike shook his head, saying, "I can't see him hurt-"

"Too bad," Chet snapped, "You're both firemen. Someone's bound to get hurt again. Even if you weren't firemen, people get hurt every day. We'd be out of a job if they didn't. What happens if you both quit and one of ya gets hit by a car? Would you be doin' all this then?"

"Sounds like you did," Mike shot back.

"I'm an idiot, though. I'm stupid and immature, and I'm hardly someone to model your life after. I thought we'd been through this, babe. Do as I say, not as I do."

Silence reigned between them for a long moment. Chet gave a little sigh, returned to a softer and gentler tone, explained, "Marco misses you. A lot. He's sad and angry and confused because he doesn't know why you aren't there with him. He couldn't even talk about it without chokin' up and crying, and I don't blame him one bit. He-… He really, really misses you."

Mike finally looked up at him. Chet took one look at the wet eyes and trembling lip and couldn't stop himself. He pulled Mike in for a hug, wrapping his arms around his friend. Mike tried to remain stoic, tried to cry quietly. _Please fix this, Mike. I can't choose sides._ He tightened the embrace.

xXxXx

By his fifth day in the hospital, Marco was angry, bore an anger based in sadness and loneliness. Mike was certainly not ill or injured as he'd initially suspected, so he could think of no logical reason for his boyfriend to not come see him while he was in recovery in the hospital. No, he was definitely angry now.

Johnny had been there with him last night, when the anger first manifested, and he'd helped a bit. He'd managed to keep his mind off everything while he was there. Johnny was a good kid when he put his mind to it, after all. Now though… There was no one with him now to distract him. He sighed, looked down at his broken arm, shifted uncomfortably in the hospital bed. Brackett told him it would take almost two months to recover, two months for his arm and internal injuries to fully heal, which meant at least two months of no work, although he might be able to get light duty somewhere in the department. He'd rather be busy, especially since he and Mike were going through trouble just now.

 _I just don't know what I could've done to make him hate me all of the sudden._ They'd been fine before his accident, just before it. Maybe he was missing something, though he had no idea what it could be. None of his friends had been any help, either. When Mike decided to abandon Marco, he apparently abandoned everyone else at 51s, as well. No one seemed to know where he was save for Cap, and Cap had apparently been sworn to secrecy.

Marco sighed again. He just wanted to be told he could leave so his sister could pick him up and take him home. She was already taking care of the cats. _That's another thing I'm pissed about._ He just wanted to leave. He'd go stay with Cari and Stela and collect his thoughts and maybe figure out what the hell was going on with Mike. There was a knock on the door.

Never before had Marco felt anger when he saw Mike, but he sure felt it right now. Mike looked sheepish and repentant and scared, but Marco didn't care. He didn't want to kiss away those bad emotions this time. He actually felt quite vindicated. Neither of them said anything for a long moment, tension filling the small room.

"Brackett- uh… Brackett said you're good to go home now."

"Yeah. He said I might get discharged today. I told my sister to be waiting by the phone."

Mike gave a soft "Oh," but said nothing else. The words must've stung the way Marco intended. Unable to resist another barb, Marco added, "I mean, Cari already has the cats, so I might as well crash there, too."

That one actually made Mike wince.

"Marco, look, I-I'm-… I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to-… I was just so scared an-"

"Scared?" Marco scoffed, "You were scared? Stoker, I woke up alone and confused in a fuckin' hospital room. My head hurt, my arm, my back, even my insides. I could barely remember what happened, and I was alone. My first day in here I only saw Dixie and Early. When I never saw you, I thought you died or-or were hurt or somethin' like that, 'cause why else would you not be here? There was no other conceivable reason for you to not be here. Don't sit an-and tell me you were scared."

"Please, Marco-"

"I don't wanna talk to you right now."

Mike swallowed, tears visible in his eyes. Marco was not swayed.

"I'm gonna stay with Cari and Stela for a bit," Marco told him, "You can have the apartment. It's close to the station and you still hafta go to work."

"Babe, please, I'm-"

"I'll call Cari to come get me."

This was a cold thing he was doing, but it felt so right in the moment. Guilt would probably tear him apart later, but for now… he felt good. Mike hastily wiped away a tear that fell, nodded faintly, stepped back to leave, stopped at the door. He turned to look at Marco, sadness and fear etched into his face, and whispered, "I really am very sorry… and I still love you very much."

He left before Marco could reply, not that Marco had one waiting. He wasn't sure how to respond. Somewhere, deep down, he was certain he really did still love Mike, but he was just so damn angry right now he didn't feel like looking that hard. Dixie came in not long after.

"Marco, is everything alright? I just saw Mike out in the hallway. He looked pretty upset."

"Yeah… it's fine."

"It doesn't look fine to me. You wanna tell me about it?"

"Not really, no."

Dixie sighed quietly and came closer, carefully sitting on the edge of the hospital bed.

"You don't hafta talk to me about what's going on between you and Mike," she told him gently, "but if it's upsetting you both, you probably should talk to someone. You were very agitated when you woke up and Mike wasn't here. Now, Mike came to see you today, and he left lookin' like he was gonna cry. That looks to me like some kind of fight, Marco."

"It was what it looked like."

She raised an eyebrow but said nothing else on the matter, instead handing over discharge papers and telling him, "Dr. Brackett says you're good to go. No strenuous activities for a couple weeks, don't get the cast wet, and if you feel really bad, come right in, alright? There's the number on here for the orthopedist, Dr. Richard Cortland. He'll follow up with you on your arm. Do you have a change of clothes?"

"Yeah, Chet brought me some yesterday."

"You have a ride home?"

"Callin' my sister."

He finally looked up at Dixie properly. She gave him a soft smile and rested her hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. She said, "You call if you need anything, okay?"

"I will, Dix. Promise."

"Good, now, do you need any help getting dressed?"

"I dunno… I might."

Dixie helped him into his clothes, which was slightly more difficult than he expected, and wheeled him out to his sister's car.

"Oh, Marquiño," Cari said, helping him into the car, "Thank you so much, Nurse McCall. Marco, c'mon, I'm taking you to Mama's first. She's been worried sick and- Oh, Nurse McCall, are there any special instructions for him?"

"He's got a paper with him, Miss Lopez. He knows the rules."

"Good. Thank you again. Alright, Marco… we're goin' to Mama's."

"Do we have to?"

" _Si_ , we do. Look, we don't have to stay long. After a while, just tell her you're tired and wanna go home and sleep," Cari told him, "and I'll take you to your apart-"

"I was hoping I could stay with you and Stela for a bit," Marco blurted, extremely thankful they were already in the car and ready to go, Dixie headed into the hospital building.

"Why? Is Mike working? Is that why he couldn't pick you up?"

"No… he isn't working today."

"Does this have something to do with why we have the cats?"

"Yeah. He didn't come to see me in the hospital until today," Marco explained softly, "From what I heard, Mike didn't even go home after that shift ended. He just kinda ran away to his parents' place. He never even tried to contact me. I told him he could stay at the apartment, and I would stay somewhere else for a little while."

"So, you-? You had a fight?"

"Guess so."

It was kind of a surreal thought. He and Mike had never fought before. They'd had their minor disagreements, certainly, but they were easily overcome. This was something else entirely.

"I just don't know why he wouldn't come to visit me," he said after a moment.

"He didn't say?"

"He said he was scared. Stupid…"

"Kinda stupid, I guess… but not entirely. I can see why he was scared. You almost died, Marquiño. He loves you very much, and he almost lost you. People don't always react to things like that in a logical way, or at least not ways we think are logical."

"I guess…"

He thought of Mike's grief, the anger born of intense loss. _Did he get that way this time? Did he break anything?_ There was a lump growing in his throat he desperately tried to fight. He still wanted to be mad. He still was mad, though he wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to stay that way.


	22. That Would Be Enough

_**Warnings: strong language, some homophobic language/behavior (period-typical)**_

* * *

The last month had been horrible. Roy honestly felt bad for the string of replacements standing in for Marco because the entirety of Station 51 was generally miserable. Chet and Johnny were always subdued now, Cap was cranky, and Mike was damn near silent, only speaking when spoken to. Roy tried to continue acting normally, tried to pretend nothing had happened, but it was difficult. He didn't want to point fingers, though in this case, he felt justified in saying it was Mike's fault.

When Marco got hurt last month, Mike all but disappeared during their four days off, retreating to his parents' house in Topanga Canyon. He told no one but Cap where he was going, and he apparently never contacted Marco. Chet told Roy and Johnny that he'd had to personally go to the Stoker house to talk to Mike. _Really, if they were trying to hide the fact that they're in a relationship, it's gonna be a helluva lot harder now._ Whenever they got the chance to speak with Marco, he was miserable, too.

"It's reaching a crisis point," Roy told Chet one day, "We're all gonna lose it soon if this keeps up. Nobody is actin' like themselves."

"It's just-… There's so much tension floatin' around. Mike comes in miserable, and that's it, just like that, we're all miserable," Chet said.

"Do you know why he's so upset all the time, Chet? I mean, you're closer to the two of them than any of us. Have they told you anything?"

Chet started chewing his lip and looking around, his eyes going everywhere but Roy's face. _Oh, he knows._ Roy carefully took Chet's arm and led him out the back door to the parking lot where they could talk more privately. The lineman looked nervous still, so Roy decided to pull out some of his paramedic techniques. He left his hand on Chet's arm and adopted a gentle tone, saying, "Chet, please, if you know why this is happening, I'd like for you to tell me. If it's about them bein' together, it's hardly a secret anymore, so you might as well tell me. We just cannot keep goin' like this."

"I guess they are bein' kinda obvious," Chet replied, scrubbing at his face.

"What do you know about it?"

"When Marco got hurt, Mike got scared. That's really the biggest thing, the tipping point, I guess you could say. Now, when Mike got scared, he decided just to fuck off, and he didn't contact Marco for, like, three days. Obviously, that pissed Marco off, so when Mike finally did go see him, it was basically too late, and now they're pretty much not speaking to each other and haven't seen each other since that day. They're usin' me as a-a go-between, and it's fuckin' me up a little."

For a moment, Roy just blinked. _That's a lot goin' on that we didn't know about._

"I-… Really?"

"Yeah, really. Marco's been stayin' with his sister and her girlfriend, so-"

"Her girlfriend?"

"Mhmm. She's super nice. She works as a nurse, actually."

Roy had to blink again. _So Marco's gay and his sister's a lesbian. Christmas dinners must be fun._

"Do you know-? Uh, what was Mike scared of? Why didn't he go see Marco?" he asked.

"What's anyone afraid of when someone they love almost dies?" Chet shrugged, "He was afraid Marco would die, and he'd be left alone. He was afraid of the hurt."

"And he thought he was makin' a good choice?"

"Hey, man, I tried to tell him it wasn't a good idea, but clearly, he didn't listen to me, so…"

"What can we do about it, though? How can we fix it?"

"Do wha-? Fix what?"

"Well, we weren't just talkin' about how to solve the energy crisis. Chet, how can we help Mike and Marco?' Roy asked pointedly.

"Shit, I dunno, Roy. We're not fairy godmothers here. We don't have fuckin' magic wands to get them back together. Honestly, I think it'll just run its course and blow over."

"I suppose it could… but what if it doesn't?"

Chet looked up at him, his eyes wide, his lips parting slightly. That Mike and Marco wouldn't make up was clearly a thought that hadn't occurred to him, not even remotely. _What an optimist._ Roy didn't like to think of himself as a pessimist, but he liked to be prepared for the worst. The worst-case scenario here was likely that the shift would be broken up. Mike and Marco would go their separate ways, one or both going to another station. If they were to leave, then it was conceivable that others would go, too. _Me and Johnny could be the only two left._ He suppressed a shudder. That was not something he wanted to see happen. Chet looked terrified by the prospect.

"You should talk to Marco," Roy said, trying to work out a plan, "You're his partner, so you're probably closer to him than you are to Mike."

"Then who's gonna talk to Mike?"

"Honestly, I was thinkin' Joanne could. She deals with that every day, with me comin' to work and maybe dyin' or being hurt real bad. She's had to sit with me in the hospital, brought the kids with her, gave me lectures on bein' safe at work, all of it. Her perspective might really help. She could probably talk to Marco, too, so he knows what Mike's goin' through. I mean, what could it hurt at this point?"

xXxXx

Marco's stomach rolled with anxiety. He hadn't seen or spoken to Mike in six weeks now, not since that day at the hospital. At first, he didn't want to see him because he was angry. Then, it was because he was a little afraid. He still loved Mike… but what if Mike didn't love him anymore? What if this fight was it and they were over now? Marco didn't even want to think about it. He took a deep breath before getting out of his car and heading up to the apartment.

Joanne's words really stuck with him. It was hard for her to kiss her husband goodbye in the morning and wonder if it would be the last time, to worry about every phone call and knock on the door.

"And just think," she told him, "how much worse it must be for him to actually be there, to be witness to any horrible thing that could happen to you and still be unable to help. Be patient with him, Marco, because he's going to be afraid sometimes, and there's nothing you can do about that except to make the best promises you can. Trust me."

He stared at the door for a long moment. Part of him, a very large part of him, simply wanted to turn around and leave and try to never see him again. He knew he couldn't, though. This was something they needed to fix, one way or another, whatever the outcome may be. Marco took another deep breath and knocked on the door.

Mike opened the door after a moment, surprised to see Marco standing there. _Makes sense… I didn't call to say I was coming._ Marco fiddled with his sling for a moment and asked, "Can I-? Can I come in? I'd really like to talk to you… if I could."

"I guess so… yeah."

He stood aside to let Marco in. Their apartment looked the same as it always did, everything in its place, looked lived in and well-loved. Mike stepped around and pointed Marco to the couch. Marco sat at one end; Mike sat at the other. _It's like we're strangers, like we weren't everything to each other for about three years._ A moment of silence passed between them.

"I'm sorry."

They spoke at the same time, looking at each other finally. Marco felt his lips quirk in a brief smile. Mike cleared his throat, looked down, moved fractionally closer to Marco on the couch, whispered, "Can I go first?"

Marco nodded. Mike wet his lips, shifted in his seat, and explained, "I'm really sorry, Marco. I just… I kinda panicked. Seeing you hurt like that… it made me look at the possibility that I could lose you one day, any day, and I wasn't ready to handle it. I let that fear take over, an-and I ran. I know it wasn't right to do, but I couldn't stop myself from doing it. I was so afraid of losing you that I-I tried to push you away. I don't really know what I was thinkin'… guess I-I wasn't thinkin'…

"Maybe-… Maybe I thought that if we weren't together, if something would happen to you, it wouldn't hurt as much. Lookin' back now, it sounds really stupid, but for some reason it musta seemed like a good idea at the time. I just couldn't deal with the thought that I almost lost you, Marco. I love you… I love you very much, and I was just so afraid. I know they're not good excuses, and I don't expect forgiveness right away, but… but I at least wanted to tell you that."

"Well, I'm sorry, too. I got mad. I was mad at you and I let it take over," Marco responded, "I woke up alone and scared, and I couldn't imagine why you weren't there. I thought… I thought somehow I'd done something to piss you off, something to make you hate me and this was your chance to be rid of me. I thought you'd abandoned me, and when Chet told me you didn't tell anyone why you left or where you went, I at least didn't feel so alone. When you finally came to see me, I took it out on you. I shouldn't have."

"Honestly, I kinda deserved it. It was a dumbass move."

"Maybe a little… but you didn't deserve what followed. You didn't deserve the coldness, the silence. You didn't deserve me making you think I didn't love you anymore."

"I never thought that," Mike responded almost immediately, "I never thought you didn't love me anymore."

Marco smiled. Mike continued, "See, I talked to Joanne, and she usually feels the same way. She told me she and Roy have had the same fight a few times, but every time they get through it because they love each other and talk it out. So… I'd like to talk it out now."

"I thought we just did."

"Yeah… yeah, I guess we did."

They together quietly for a moment before Marco spoke up, "I talked to Joanne, too. She put a lot of things in perspective for me. I never really tried to look at it from your point of view. I just figured since we'd both been doin' the same job for long, we were already used to stuff like this, to someone getting hurt. She told me to be patient when you're afraid. I think that's reasonable."

"And even when I'm afraid, I won't push you away because that makes things worse."

Mike's smile was sweet and shy as he leaned in, and Marco was ashamed when he didn't let the man kiss him. He sighed, "Shit, I'm sorry, Mike. I dunno-… I guess I'm still a little upset about everything."

"No, I understand… You, uh, you have a right to still be upset, I think. I knew we wouldn't fix this overnight. I just want it fixed. I-… I've really missed you."

"I've missed you, too."

He really meant it. The anger and hurt feelings weren't entirely gone, still simmered somewhere under the surface, but he had missed his lover dearly. He had missed the closeness they had, the intimacy, the love. He wasn't, however, able to entirely forgive just yet.

"Look, Mike, I-… It really hurt when I thought you abandoned me, especially since I was in the hospital. I think-… I'm sure I'll fully forgive you soon, but it's not gonna be immediate. I wish it would be, but that's just not how it works, _querido_."

"You called me 'querido' just now. That's a good start."

"Yeah, I'd say it is."

"Yeah… hey, did you eat lunch yet? I can make something."

"I'd like that."

xXxXx

"So, how was everyone at the station this past shift, honey?" Ginny asked.

Hank obediently stooped to kiss his wife, saying, "Much better. Not perfect, but better."

"Mike and Marco are back to being best friends again?"

"C'mon, Ginny, you know better than that."

He raised his eyebrows slightly. She sighed, agreed, "Alright, I do. I suppose they're a pretty poorly kept secret after this little spat. How long have you had your… suspicions?"

"Couple years now, I guess," he replied, rubbing the back of his neck, "Them moving in together wasn't really a big thing. Bachelors do it all the time to save money, but they've stayed there… and they never talk about dating anyone… even though they've had some hickeys they thought they covered up. It's just-… Hell, I dunno, Ginny…"

He dropped into a kitchen chair, scrubbed at his face, heaved a sigh. His wife sat beside him, her gentle hand resting on his knee.

"Talk to me, Hank, honey."

"It's just kind of… weird, I guess, to know that two of my firemen are… intimate with each other. I just feel all mixed up about it."

"What has you mixed up?"

"C'mon, sweetie, you knew my parents. You remember what kind of people they were, the kinds of things they said," Hank whispered.

 _Hateful. They were hateful._ He'd grown up in Missouri, and his parents were the kind of people who lamented the fact the South hadn't won the Civil War. They pushed all sorts of foul views and bigotry on him from an early age, tried to teach him to hate anyone who wasn't like them, to hate people of color and Catholics and atheists and the disabled and anyone who loved in a way that was not considered normal. _Hell, my father was a card-carrying, hood-wearing member of the KKK._ He only took Ginny (then Svoboda) to visit them once before they were married. His parents did not attend the wedding, and Hank was more than happy to cut them out of his life.

"Hank, you are not like them, not by a long shot," Ginny told him earnestly, "You are the sweetest, kindest, most understanding man I've ever known. You have overcome their hate in ways no one could ever imagine. Don't second guess yourself when it comes to your kindness."

"You just don't know what it's like in the department these days," he explained, "Every day you hear jokes about this and that, offensive jokes, and you just hafta sit there and pretend they don't bother you unless you wanna be labeled some way. A lot of them come from other captains, from chiefs, so then you gotta sit there and keep quiet because they're in charge and you like your job. I want to be a good man, Ginny, I really do, but sometimes it's hard… very hard."

"But you are a good man. I wouldn't have married you otherwise. When the time comes for you to make that all-important choice between what's right and what's easy, you'll pick what's right. You always do. You always have… like when you set McConnike's hat on fire."

Hank chuckled quietly. _That was pretty funny._ When McConnike was Hank's captain, they'd had a probie named Douglass Scott Hooper, a young black man. Some of the men in the station took to treating Hooper poorly, ragging on him more than usual for a probie. Hank had tried to put a stop to it, but they wouldn't stop unless their captain told them to, so Hank went to McConnike. He refused to put his foot down, to stop the outright racist behavior, and Hank resorted to drastic measures. McConnike made sure it ended after that. Hooper was an engineer now.

Ginny looked at him warmly. He always loved her beautiful personality, loved the way it reflected in her face. _My sweetie still looks good._ There were only a few strands of grey in her dark hair, gentle lines in her face, a certain twinkle still in her green eyes. She was at least a foot shorter than him but always knew how to put him in his place when needed. _A fireman's wife: sweet as honey and tough as steel._

"I'm not sure what I ever did that was good enough to deserve you," he whispered.

"Oh, you were just you. That's good enough for me… always has been. Now, what you need to do is just be the same old you when you see the two of them again. Letting them know you don't think of them any differently is one of the best shows of support you can give, I think," she said gently, "They're your friends, and they're happy together. That's what's important."

"You're very inspirational, you know that?"

"With three girls and two of them teenagers? I have to be inspirational."

"I'm sure you do, and I'm glad you're here to do it."

"Are you also glad I made breakfast?"

"Ginny, sweetie, anything and everything you do makes me glad."

He leaned in and kissed her gently, lingering a moment, before she told him, "C'mon, honey, eat some breakfast. I'm sure you need it."

"As you wish."

Hank spent the rest of the day partially in deep thought. He was honestly having a bit of trouble with the knowledge that two of his shiftmates were in a relationship with each other and apparently had been for some time. It was just a strange thought. Homosexuals were supposed to be easily picked out of a crowd. They weren't supposed to be like everyone else, weren't supposed to fit in. Mike and Marco didn't fit the stereotype. They didn't even fit the stereotype of overcompensation, didn't act overly macho or aggressive for no reason. Mike and Marco were just themselves, just as they'd always been. Things were so different, but they had never changed.

He tried to imagine what he would do if one of his daughters came home with a young lady and told him they were dating. He liked to think he would handle himself with grace and tact; he hoped he would. His daughters were his whole world, and he always wanted them to know he loved and supported them. _I mean, I don't really want them dating at all, but at least a girl can't get another girl pregnant if they make stupid choices._ The men at 51s were as close as his family. It was only fair he offered them the same love and support. Hank wouldn't bring up their relationship and make them uncomfortable, but he would he would make damn sure Mike and Marco knew he still cared about them.

xXxXx

Johnny stood next to Chet outside the locker room, both waiting for the unsuspecting boot to emerge. Young Tim McClellan had not been endearing himself to the men of 51s lately, not with the way he'd been talking. Their shift was tight-knit, their own little family, and no one like this was going to have any influence on them. Still, there were some lines a person just didn't cross, and Johnny Gage and Chet Kelly were not a team to piss off.

They both looked up when they heard footsteps approach, but it was just Roy.

"Look, fellas," Roy said quietly, "just don't rough him up or do anything to compromise your careers, okay? I can only back you up so far."

"Aw, Roy, we're not gonna hurt him," Johnny said.

"We're just gonna shut him up," Chet added.

Roy rolled his eyes and simply told them, "Be careful," before heading out to his car. Johnny and Chet smirked at each other. Having one of them upset at you was bad enough, but combined… they became unholy terrors prepared to rain down destruction. _Okay, maybe that's a bit much, but it's essentially true._ Both were made in the same mold: fiercely loyal, incredibly protective, ready to fight to defend the people they loved. The poor boot didn't stand a chance.

The two 51s veterans grabbed McClellan by the arms as soon as he stepped out of the locker room. B-shift had been called out on a run, so the three of them were the only ones in the station. They dragged him back into the locker room and pinned him to the wall. The young man struggled wildly, flailing and tensing and shouting until Chet yelled over him, "So help me God, McClellan, shut the fuck up and keep still before we make you. I've got some rank socks in my locker I've saved for just such an occasion. I'll stuff one right in your damn piehole, dig?"

That stopped him. Johnny spoke now, drawling, "Now that's a good 'lil fella. See, we don't wanna hurt ya, we just- we wanna make ya see the error of your ways."

"But don't get me wrong, we'll hurt ya if you make us do it."

There was something like fear in McClellan's eyes, and it made Johnny feel good.

"What's this about?"

"You know what it's about," Johnny answered.

"What? About your friends bein' fag-"

"Ah ah!" Chet interrupted, "You better watch your pretty little mouth. It's not too late for me to get a sock. I know Gage here looks skinny, but he could hold ya down. He's stronger than he looks."

"Oh yeah, I could put ya in a hold and keep ya there easy. I used to steer wrestle, after all."

McClellan clamped his mouth shut. They smirked again. Johnny spoke up, "Here's the deal, man… Marco and Mike are our friends, have been for nigh on four years now. I don't know if you're a troublemaker or unable to keep your mouth shut or if you're just plain stupid, but you do not get to walk into a fire station and start talkin' shit on the guys that work there."

"It's a pretty simple rule, kid."

"Yup, very simple. Talk shit-"

"-get hit."

Chet's smirk was cruel and threatening. It was actually kind of scary.

"Now, me and Kelly here, we're lovers rather than fighters, but that doesn't mean we won't fight when we find a worthy cause. Our friends are that kinda cause."

"They're our friends. They've been there for us through shit you wouldn't believe, and they are better men than you could ever hope to be, and if I hear one more degrading thing directed at them come outta your mouth, I'll fuckin' close it."

"But-… But if they are queers… isn't that somethin'' you wanna know about? Don't you wanna be rid of guys like- _ah_!"

Chet didn't hit him, but his raised fist was enough, along with a hiss of, "The fuck did I just say?" and a little lunge.

"Here's the thing, McClellan," Johnny explained, voice dangerously low, "you don't know what you're dealin' with here. We couldn't give a shit what the two of them do in the privacy of their own apartment. They're two of the best firemen a guy could ever work with. You could learn from 'em if you weren't such a goddamn idiot. They are the best and the brightest."

"Now, we'd like to make a deal with you. We had better see some improvement in your language and behavior in these next few weeks before Marco comes back, or you're not gonna like the consequences."

"You can't hurt me," McClellan spat, "There's nothin' you can do- _ow_!"

A fist connected with his abdomen, doubling him over.

"That's where you're wrong," Chet hissed.

"He's right, y'know. See, there's plenty we can do to you. It's other firemen that make your reputation, and you'd do well to remember that. Word spreads like wildfire through the stations. I'm sure you don't want it gettin' around that you're difficult to work with and rude and- what else, Chet?"

"Disrespectful… unwilling to learn," Chet's eyes narrowed, "…untrustworthy."

The fear in McClellan's eyes deepened. He stammered, "Y-You wouldn't-! You can't-!"

"We would," Chet stated.

"We can."

"And we will, if you don't cut it out with that shit about Marco and Mike."

"We won't tolerate that bullshit anymore. Not another word."

"And if you don't cut it out, our vengeance will be swift and terrible."

"Are we clear?"

They looked at him with identical Chesire grins. _I almost want him to keep it up so we can prove we mean business._ A long moment passed.

"Yes… crystal clear."

They clapped him on the shoulders and left without another word.

"Did ya really hafta hit him, Chet?"

"I thought it would help. It shut him up anyway."

"S'pose it did… we had a little 'good cop-bad cop' goin' on there. You were a pretty good bad cop."

"Yeah, I was, wasn't I? Y'know, that was fun, Gagey baby. We should intimidate people more often. Wrongdoers, of course. We could be like Batman and Robin."

"Oh yeah? Which one is which?"

"I'll hafta think about it. You wanna go get breakfast, man? All this intimidation got me hungry."

"Hell yeah, Chet. I'm starvin' like Marvin. Let's hit the Deepwater, huh?"

It was really a shame McClellan chose not to heed their warnings… a shame for him, anyway. The rest of 51s had a wonderful time. They got to see some of the most creative pranks of all time. Johnny's greatest reward was when Mike thanked the two of them profusely at the end of a week and half, after which McClellan had seemingly had enough and gotten transferred. _Rumors do travel fast through the department. He'll learn._ Word came around that McClellan did not last another two months in the department.

xXxXx

"Finally!" Marco exclaimed when they took off the cast, "Freedom!"

The orthopedist laughed, "That's about the usual reaction. Everything looks really good in there. You healed up great. Now, there might be some residual weakness just from disuse, and that's perfectly normal. I can give you a sheet with some simple exercises to get some of that strength back. It shouldn't be very bad, but it will be noticeable. Now then, don't hesitate to call or come in if something doesn't feel right, okay? I'm going to give you a note saying you can return to work in two weeks-"

"Two weeks?"

Marco's heart sank. He didn't want to wait anymore.

"Just to be one hundred percent sure everything healed up properly. We worked hard putting that arm back together. I don't want any unnecessary injury from premature activity."

He sighed, flexed his left arm and elbow and wrist. _I suppose it does feel a little weak…_ The doctor gave him the exercise sheet and ushered him out. Mike sat in the waiting room, thumbing through an auto magazine, looking up when Marco entered.

"Look at you," Mike commented as they headed out of the building, "You're a free man."

"I know. It's amazing. I thought I was never gonna get out of that cast. Really sucks to have that much plaster encasing your arm in July. I don't even wanna think about how much sweat was in that thing."

"Ugh, yeah, I bet it was pretty rank."

"You have no idea…"

The small talk continued in Mike's truck. It felt easy again. They'd had a bit of a rough patch after Marco's injury, after Mike ran away, after their fight. Marco had been upset for a while, which he felt was fair. Mike was very good about giving him his space and giving him the time to forgive. Forgiving was easier now without a visible reminder on his arm… not that he hadn't forgiven him already. He wanted to give Mike some space, too, some time to think about their relationship. _He always says he doesn't know what he'd do without me. I'm not sure I wanna know, honestly._ The silence in the truck was no longer unforgiving but was warm and comfortable.

The cats greeted them at the door before bounding off to play with each other. Marco and Mike stepped into the apartment, and Mike started to head back to the bedroom. Marco stopped him, took his hand, murmured, " _Querido_ , wait…"

Mike turned and fixed his gaze on him, the blue eyes wide as Marco held both his hands.

"There's so much I want to say to you, Mike. You took care of me. You looked after me. You made sure I was okay. Even when we were fighting… Cari told me you would call at least once a day and check up on me. So much to say… and I have no idea how to put it all into words. I was hopin'-… I was hopin' maybe if I could kiss you, we could figure it out."

"I thought you'd never ask."

The kiss was tentative at first. Marco looked up into those beautiful blue eyes, and he leaned in. Their lips brushed, just the barest touch, something like a promise. Mike's breath was warm and sweet. Marco pressed their lips together a little harder, making his presence known. He felt Mike relax, stroked his thumb over the rough knuckles, finally moved his lips against Mike's. A big hand disappeared from his and settled at the junction of his jaw and neck. Marco rested his now free hand on Mike's waist. Mike kissed back, his lips gentle and slow against Marco's, their warmth and softness reminding him of home. _I am home._

After a moment, he let his tongue dart out against Mike's lower lip, a gentle question. _What have you decided, mi amor?_ The lips answered, parted easily, eagerly. A soft noise escaped Mike's throat. Everything fell into place, the two men forcefully reminded of their love and connection, that this was where they belonged. Marco's hand slipped to Mike's lower back, pulling him slightly closer. The kiss was gentle and sweet and slow. It spoke of forgiveness and thanks and love and many other things that could not have been said with mere words.

They broke apart after a few moments, Mike's forehead resting on Marco's, both sets of eyes having slipped shut briefly. Warmth sat heavy and wonderful in Marco's gut, radiating out into his limbs, carried in his veins.

"I understand," Mike murmured.

"I knew you would."

xXxXx

Mike looked into the deep brown eyes. _I was so stupid._ Stepping away, distancing himself, had seemed so easy. If he was not in a relationship with Marco, then everything would hurt less should something happen to Marco. He'd come to realize, however, that doing that would only make things worse. He would miss out on so much, would regret so much. _It's better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. That's what they say._ He never thought that way before. He preferred to save himself the pain before, but Marco managed to get through his walls and find a place in his heart. Any kind of removal now would be too painful to bear.

He breathed, "I love you," into the space between them.

"And I love you."

The words were warm and bright, long held and long awaited. He stroked his thumb along Marco's cheek, said softly, "I'm so sorry for all the pain I caused you. I was just so afraid of losing you that I really almost did lose you, and I don't want that to happen. I'm gonna try to be better. I don't wanna run away when I'm afraid. I'm gonna try to be better, God forbid, if something like this happens again. I don't wanna lose you, Marco."

"And I don't wanna lose you. I'll try to be more understanding and not push you away. I was so afraid… and then I was angry."

"I know, I'm so sorry, babe. I didn't mean-"

"I know, I know. Mike, we just need to agree to communicate when somethin' like this happens again… because somethin' like this will happen again. I don't think either of us plans on quitting any time soon, so I'm still gonna be running into burning buildings on a fairly regular basis for a while to come."

"Maybe we can make you an engineer so I can keep you safe… well, safer."

"Maybe one day, but for now, I like where I'm at. I like bein' with you. I like the guys, too."

Mike leaned in and kissed him gently. _I don't want you to go anywhere, either._

"Kiss me again," Mike murmured against his lips, "I've missed you."

Nothing made him feel at home so much as Marco's kiss.


	23. Give Thanks

_**Warnings: minor language**_

* * *

"What's everyone doing for Thanksgiving tomorrow?" Cap asked during dinner.

Roy looked up with a long-suffering expression, explained, "We're going to Joanne's parents' for the whole day."

Everyone nodded knowingly, all too aware that Roy's mother-in-law, for whatever reason, was not very fond of him.

"I just picked up an extra shift," Johnny spoke up, "After all, my people aren't too big on Thanksgiving. Might as well make a little money and give someone the day off who wants it."

"What about you, Cap?"

"Oh, it'll just be me, Ginny, and the girls this year, but it'll be nice, I think. What about you, fellas?"

He gestured to Mike, Marco, and Chet. Marco said, "Well, my family really doesn't do Thanksgiving, either, so me and Chet are going with Mike to his parents'. It should be a lot of fun."

"Yeah? That does sound nice. Maybe one year we should all have a big Thanksgiving dinner with all our families," Cap suggested thoughtfully, "We oughta remember that for next year."

Mike nodded and cast a glance over at Chet, who was not looking at anyone and had some color in his cheeks. This Thanksgiving dinner had been at least a month and a half in preparation. Libby had called Mike in October to make sure he and Marco would be off, and Mike asked if, just in case, they could bring along an extra person. He didn't know what Chet usually did on Thanksgiving and other holidays like it, but he thought it would be nice to at least invite him to join them. When he'd asked Chet about it, he hadn't expected the reaction he got.

Chet had flushed bright pink, avoided Mike's eyes, started shuffling his feet and fidgeting.

"N-No, I couldn't- I do-don't wanna impose on any-"

"It's not imposing. I'm inviting you."

"I dunno… I don't want it to be weird. I feel like it would be weird."

"Chet, it's not gonna be weird. My family likes you, and me and Marco'll be there. If it's the sign language thing, don't worry about it. Marco's isn't exactly great yet. He can't really follow conversation yet, and I'm used to translating, so that's no big deal. I mean, if you had planned to pick up OT, that's fine, but-… I just-… I don't want you alone when you don't hafta be."

He couldn't really argue after that, which was good because Mike really didn't feel like arguing. He didn't know exactly why Chet felt so undeserving of their friendship and love, but he was determined to try and make him see otherwise. Now, he was hoping Chet wouldn't try to back out at the last moment. Marco was making idle conversation with his partner, the two speaking in low tones. Mike smiled softly and returned to his dinner. _Johnny actually did a good job tonight. This is not only edible, it's actually pretty good._ Roy had helped him a little when he asked for it, but he honestly was getting better at cooking.

"Mike, what time are we goin' to your parents' tomorrow?" Marco asked

"Oh, we can go whenever," he shrugged, "Dinner's usually around five or five-thirty, but I'm sure Mom wouldn't mind a few extra pairs of hands to help set everything up. That's if she makes you guys do anything at all, which she probably won't. She doesn't let guests do anything."

"Am I really a guest anymore?"

"True, but she might make an exception because Chet's gonna be there, and she won't want him sitting alone."

"Really? She's gotta let me do somethin'!" Chet piped up, "I don't wanna be a mooch."

"Well, I'll see what we have for you to do that'll keep you outta the kitch-"

The tones dropped, sending the firemen launching to their feet, directing the station to an unknown trouble call. Mike pulled himself up into his seat and put on his turnout, waited for Cap to climb up next to him, felt Marco settle in behind him, sighed contentedly. It had not been so long ago that Mike and Marco had been on the brink. Mike had been exceedingly stupid and nearly ruined it all. They'd made it through, however, had apologized and made up and made promises, and things between them were back to normal… were better than normal. Cap pulled the map out of the glove box, not that Mike needed a map. He switched on the sirens as they left the driveway behind the squad.

The address belonged to a small house, children's toys scattered on the front lawn. A woman frantically ran out to them, her dark face fearful and tear-stained.

"Please!" she cried, "It's my husband! I don't know what's wrong! He's shaking and sweating and freaking out! Please, he-he's never been like this before!"

She practically dragged Roy into the house ahead of everyone, leaving Johnny and Chet to carry the equipment in.

"What've we got, Roy?" Johnny asked, setting up in the living room.

"Apparently, the male patient has locked himself in their bedroom," Roy explained while Cap calmed the woman, "Wife said he wasn't feeling well the last two days, was shaky and sweaty and vomited several times. She did give us permission to break down the door if necessary, but I'm hopin' we won't hafta do that."

"What happened today?"

Roy only shrugged and went to the door, knocking on it to try and communicate with the patient. Johnny gave a quiet huff and got to work setting the biophone up. After a moment, the wife came back, sufficiently calmed by Cap.

"Ma'am, is there anything you can think of to tell us about what may have caused this?" Johnny asked, "Could he have taken any drugs? Started a new medication? Does he work with any chemicals?"

"No, nothing like that. He just got a job as a security guard at an art museum. He starts there next week. That's why he wanted to get clean, for me and the kids and his new job."

"Get clean?"

"Yes, he's been drinking. He was in the Marines in Vietnam. Got a Bronze Star and Purple Heart, but when he came home, things were hard. His job laid him off while he was gone, and he couldn't find much good work. It really tore him up, pained him, so he turned to alcohol. He was never mean or violent, never touched me or the children… he just drank. With this new job and things goin' so well, he promised me he would clean up."

"What happened today that made you call 911?" Roy asked.

"He started freaking out, said his skin was crawling, said there were things in the house trying to hurt him. I told him nothing was there, and that's when he really lost it. Locked himself in our room."

"What's his name?"

"Ted."

"And how old is Ted?"

"Thirty-one."

"Any previous medical conditions or medications? Allergic to anything?"

"No, nothing."

Roy went back to the door, knocked, called, "Ted? Ted, I'm a paramedic. I work with the fire departme-"

There was a loud gunshot. Everyone hit the floor. Johnny screamed for Roy. Mike could hear the children in their room yelling as their mother scrambled to go to them. There was a large hole in the door about at the upper frame. _Great. This guy has a shotgun. Just what we need._ Looking up, Mike could see buckshot holes in the ceiling. Johnny and Roy were arguing loudly with Cap, and Johnny crawled to follow the wife. Marco was pressed into Mike's side, shaking slightly. He whispered, " _Querido_ , are you alright?"

"Yeah… Yeah, I'm fine. You?"

"I'm okay. Just scared."

xXxXx

The patient was yelling indistinctly behind the door. Assured that Mike was okay, Marco made his way the short distance to see if Chet was the same. He was still facedown on the carpet, hands covering the back of his neck, his whole body shaking finely. Marco softly called his name and laid a hand on his lower back; Chet jumped.

"Are you alright, Chet? C'mon, _manito_ , talk to me…"

Very slowly, Chet picked up his head and looked around, seeming to take inventory of his body and surroundings. Johnny scurried back into the room, telling Cap, "Wife says he's got a 20-gauge, side-by-side double barrel. We can break down the door and get to him if we time it right since they take some time to reload."

"No, Johnny, we can't risk it," Cap said, "The police are on their way. If we just wait-"

"We can't wait! Delirium tremens has the possibility of seizures. We can't help him if he has a seizure behind that locked door."

"I just can't risk it, John. We're gonna wait."

Marco couldn't see Johnny's face, but he could imagine the look on it now; a mixture of anger and stubbornness with the merest hint of betrayal. _That's the look he gives you when you won't let him risk his neck. Stupid kid…_ Marco returned his attention to Chet. He still looked at little shaky but seemed more with it now. Sirens could be heard in the distance, rapidly approaching. Mike said to Cap, "I'm gonna go let the police know what our situation is. I'll be back," and gave Marco's arm a squeeze before heading out.

Chet made to sit up, but Marco pushed him back down gently, hand still on his lower back. The officers stepped in carefully and stood on either side of the bedroom door. One, the younger of the two, held a shotgun of his own. The elder partner knocked on the door.

"Ted, this is the police! Drop the weapon and open the door-"

Another blast set Marco's ears ringing again as he moved to protect Chet. When he looked up again, the officers were wrestling the patient out of the room… right up until the patient started seizing. Roy and Johnny quickly took control of the man, Roy yelling, "We need help over here!"

Marco and Chet got right to their feet and hustled over to the paramedics. They already had him on his side. Marco grabbed a cushion off the couch to put under his head. Roy was on the biophone, calling, "Rampart, this is Squad 51. We have a male patient, age thirty-one, currently having a grand mal seizure. Patient is reportedly withdrawing from alcohol, and we believe he may be suffering from delirium tremens. Hold for vital signs…"

"Marco, can you go get the oxygen and the drug box?" Johnny asked.

He hurried out to the squad.

"What's goin' on in there? What happened?"

"Guy's havin' a seizure. Police pulled him out and he just went. It looks bad."

The patient was still seizing when Marco came back inside. Johnny had an airway started and was issuing orders to Chet while Roy communicated with Rampart. Cap and the police officers were trying to calm the wife and crying children. Involuntary sounds escaped the patient as his throat muscles constricted. It was barely controlled chaos. Marco handed the oxygen over to Chet and gave the drug box to Johnny.

"Johnny, IV with D5W and 10mg Diazepam," Roy called over the din.

"You got it. Marco, gimme a hand over here. I need help holding this arm still…"

He held the patient's arm down at the wrist, watched Johnny methodically insert the needle and set up the IV. The patient was still seizing as the ambulance arrived, already having seized for about five minutes. Johnny and Roy carefully helped load the patient onto the gurney and took him out.

"… absolutely follow them to Rampart General, Mrs. Woods. Just don't speed or follow us too close, alright? Your husband's gonna be alright," Cap told the woman calmly.

Chet was sitting on the ground in front of the kids, a boy of four and a girl of six, telling them a silly story to keep their mind off what was happening.

"Where are they taking Daddy?" the girl asked.

"Well, he isn't feeling well, so my friends Johnny and Roy are taking him to the hospital so a doctor can make him better. They're takin' really good care of him, I promise," Chet replied gently.

"Christy, Teddy, come with me," Mrs. Woods said thickly, "We've gotta get ready to go to the hospital and wait for Daddy, okay? The nice firemen took him there so a doctor can help him get well, understand?"

"Yes, Mommy."

The firemen left after that, followed by the officers, who were still talking to Cap. He shooed them toward the engine, clearly wanting a modicum of privacy.

"Well, this was an exciting run," Marco quipped.

"I'll say," Chet agreed, "Not sure I need that kinda excitement in my life ever again, man."

Mike hummed in agreement. The three firemen stood by the engine, milling about, waiting for their captain. The sun was almost completely sunk behind the horizon.

"So, Mikey-baby," Chet spoke up after a moment, "how's Marco's moustache treatin' ya?"

A flush crept into Mike's face as Chet smirked; Marco snorted. He'd grown the moustache over the summer, abruptly deciding to grow it in those last two weeks of his recuperation, just after he and Mike really made up. He rather liked it himself, and Mike had finally admitted he liked it, too.

"Oh, I guess I like it well enough. Can't say I have any complaints," Mike replied.

"I certainly haven't heard any complaints," Marco smirked, "Sounded like all praise to me."

Chet snorted loudly just as Cap walked up. Mike cleared his throat and asked, "What was that all about, Cap?"

"Just discussing the patient's potential criminal charges," Cap answered, "I think I managed to convince them not to press charges against Mr. Woods. I don't think he really wanted to hurt anyone, and he wasn't in his right mind, anyway."

"Yeah, if he'd wanted to hurt someone, he wouldn't have shot through the doorframe," Chet remarked.

"That was very good of you," Mike added.

"Call it the holiday spirit. C'mon, let's head back to the barn, fellas…"

xXxXx

"Chet, I'm not gonna let you do this," Mike said firmly, "You promised to come."

"Yeah, well, I don't want to anymore. Maybe I don't feel good."

"Cut the shit. You feel fine."

 _I fuckin' knew this would happen._ Chet had been fidgety all morning, a little distant, more quiet than usual, and Mike wished he knew what the problem was. Chet was such a bundle of contradictions. At times, he was desperate for attention and downright clingy, almost seemed starved for touch in the way he stood too close and let his hand linger a millisecond too long. Then, there were times like this, times when he pushed all his friends away, wanted to be alone, flinched away whenever anyone touched him. It confused Mike to no end.

"I just don't understand this, Chet," Mike said, "You were so excited for this just a few days ago, you wouldn't shut up about it. Now, you're lying to me to get out of it. Why?"

"I told you, I just don't feel good-"

"Dammit, don't lie to me. Tell me the truth."

Chet ducked his head, looked at his feet, fidgeted with the hem of his t-shirt. His respiration seemed to quicken.

"I don't know how to explain it," he mumbled after a moment.

"Just try. We have some time. Marco's putting the finishing touches on some covered dishes. C'mon, we'll sit down. You want me to make coffee or get you a glass of water?"

"No, 'm fine…"

He led Chet to the cluttered couch and sat next to him. Chet suddenly switched into his touch-starved mode, pressing his body against Mike's side, shivering slightly. Mike quickly put an arm around his shoulders, keeping him there. Neither spoke for a long moment.

"I don't… I don't wanna be a burden, Mike," Chet finally whispered.

"You're not a burden. Chet, you're our friend. You're my friend. If I thought you were a burden, I wouldn't have invited you to Thanksgiving dinner at the beginning of October."

"I just know I'm gonna be useless. I can't help with anything."

"You're not useless. There's plenty for you to do, plenty we can find for you to do. I'll ask my mom and sister when we get there. It's a holiday party. There's always plenty to be done."

"I just don't want them to feel sorry for me… don't want you feelin' sorry for me, either."

"I don't feel sorry for you, Chet. You know that. Besides, Mom's been lookin' forward to seeing you again. She likes you almost as much as she likes Marco. Plus, I think Violet has a 'lil crush on you."

"The ten year old? What can I say, man? Chicks dig me."

Mike snorted quietly, giving Chet a squeeze, and told him, "C'mon, Chet… go get dressed."

Chet lingered a moment longer before pushing himself up and headed into his room, emerged a few minutes later in a smart shirt and jacket with no tie and a pair of khaki pants.

"Hey, you clean up pretty good, Chet. Lookin' sharp."

"Only for my friends, babe. Only for my friends."

They arrived at the Stoker house around noon, and everyone was in full swing. Violet came running, yelling, "Uncle Mike! Uncle Marco! You're here!"

"Yes we are, Vi, and we brought a friend. You remember Chet, right?"

Her round cheeks turned bright red as a pair of apples, and she mumbled an affirmation of some sort. She turned and ran back toward the kitchen. Marco snickered, earning a smack in the chest from Chet. Libby emerged in a floured apron, waving them all in. George, Rosie, and his parents were all set to some task. His mother looked up from her pie, grinned, signed, - _I'm so glad you're here. What did you bring?_ -

- _Marco made some Mexican food for side dishes. Our place smells great._ -

- _I can only imagine. Tell Marco he can set those on the counter where there's room._ -

Mike passed along the message, and he was immediately put to work in the kitchen. The family worked like a well-oiled machine, a perfectly choreographed dance. No one so much as tapped elbows. Marco took Chet on a grand tour of the house while Mike helped in the kitchen.

"Anything we can do to help, _querido_?" Marco asked when they returned after a while.

"I don't think so, but I can ask… one minute," he said, turned to get his mother's attention, signed, - _Mom, do you need Marco or Chet to do anything here?_ -

- _Just to enjoy themselves. There's football on today, right? Tell them to watch football._ -

"Mom says she wants you to watch football. There's a TV in the living room."

They put up a bit of a protest but were eventually shooed out by his mother and told to relax.

"I'm glad Chet could come today," Libby said once they left, "I wouldn't want him to spend today alone. It must be horrible, to go through the holidays with no family. What did he usually do before?"

"Worked, I think. There are guys who wanna work the big holidays. They usually get at least time-and-a-half, plus it gives another guy the day to spend with his family. Johnny usually does it, too. 'Course, he's Indian, so he's not too big on Thanksgiving, anyway. Gave us a pretty good lecture on the history of Columbus and Manifest Destiny the other day, actually. Very informative."

"I can only imagine. Anyway, like I said, I'm glad Chet's here with us today. He's such a sweet young man."

"You don't work with him."

"Oh, you wouldn't like him if he wasn't."

Libby had a point. Chet liked to put up a front of being a prankster and immature and not serious, but the truth wasn't far below the surface. He was genuinely sweet and kind and brave and loyal, just the kind of person Mike liked to be friends with. Ridiculous as his mood swings were and sad as his past was, Chet was still a good person. Mike would never not be amazed by that. _What he's been through would break most people… but it only made him better._ He was glad others were beginning to see what a good person Chet was.

After another hour, Mike was shooed out of the kitchen to keep his friends company 'like a good host,' and he found Marco and Chet cheerfully watching football, beers in hand.

"Who's playin' now?" he asked.

"Denver and Detroit," Marco replied, "It's lookin' pretty close right now."

"Yeah, but I think Detroit's goin' down," Chet said, "Their season's not bad, but it ain't great, either."

"For that matter, Denver's not exactly havin' a stellar season themselves."

"Detroit got shut out against Washington last year, though. Plus, Denver just lit 'em up with twenty-one unanswered points! Shame, too, since it's the Lions' last game in Tiger Stadium…"

Sure enough, the Lions ended up losing a close game to the Broncos, and the afternoon game started at 4:15. Violet came to sit with them for a bit, climbing up to sit on Mike's lap, avoiding Chet. The three firemen and Violet sat together on the couch, Mike and Marco pressed close together, their fingers twined. Chet sat on Marco's other side, just barely touching him. It just felt so right, so comforting, so domestic. Mike dropped his head onto Marco's shoulder, felt their fingers disengage and an arm slip around his waist, felt chapped lips at his hairline, let out a happy sigh.

"Aren't you two just adorable?" Chet cooed jokingly, "Such a cute 'lil picture…"

They chorused, "Shut up, Chet," and all returned their attention to the Washington-Dallas game. George called them into the dining room for dinner at six. Mike scooped up his niece and carried her in, still holding Marco's hand. _Lucky… I am so lucky._ That's what he decided to be thankful for this year. He had a family and group of friends who loved him no matter what, who loved him when society usually said that people like him were unworthy of that love. Instead, these people offered him love and support and kindness, every attempted 'coming out' to their shiftmates met with a smile and 'I know.' Mike and Marco were closer than ever, their fight almost entirely forgotten, kept in their memories as a teaching tool only. Sitting at the table, he shared a smile with Marco, then with Chet.

He'd been smiling so much today, his cheeks almost hurt. He wouldn't have it any other way.


	24. I'll Take Care of You

_**Warnings: Mild language, sexual content**_

* * *

Marco was exhausted. Brush fires were always exhausting, and he wished he knew why. Maybe it was the nonstop nature of the work, being outdoors, the added anxiety of a truly unpredictable blaze. Worse, the officials were sure this one was deliberate on some level. The burnt out shell of a car had been found in the woods where they thought the fire started. Someone had obviously tried to dump evidence of some kind of crime or simply thought it would be funny. _It won't be funny if we find a body somewhere._ He'd done that before, stumbled upon a charred corpse in the middle of a fire maybe two or three times, and it had been horrible every time.

Station 51 caught a break around four, having been on scene since about eight. Marco gratefully ate the sandwich offered him at the aid station, eating with alarming speed and sucking down the cold water as fast as he could. It wasn't enough, but it would do for now. It would have to. He looked around at his shiftmates. Chet and Johnny, like him, had already devoured their sandwiches and water, looking forlornly at the empty cups and wrappers. Mike, Roy, and Cap had managed to pace themselves and were on their last bites. They all sat around the engine and squad, listening to the radio chatter, praying their respite would last a bit longer, happy to breathe fresh air for the time being.

" _Squad 51… Report to Engine 43, north exposure. Report of an injured fireman…_ "

Johnny and Roy shared a look, and Marco knew they were hoping it wouldn't be too bad. Injured firemen could run the gamut from almost comical to life-threatening, and even that could change in a hurry. The four remaining firemen sat in the shade of the engine, relaxing while they could.

" _Engine 51, respond with Squad 51 to Engine 43's Code I, north exposure_ ," the dispatcher relayed calmly, " _Engine 43 is also reporting a missing fireman._ "

"Engine 51, KMG-365," Cap replied.

The men wearily got to their feet, quickly climbing into their places on the engine. Marco heard the engine rumble into life, heard Mike put her in gear. He and Chet pulled their turnouts on reluctantly. The day wasn't hot, actually felt somewhat cool for May, but Marco and the others were still sweating profusely as they battled the flames. Mike hit the sirens as they sped off toward the Code I on the north exposure of the fire.

Heading back into the action, smoke filled Marco's nose once more, sat heavy at the back of his throat. He rocked in his seat along the unpaved road, letting his body sway with the engine, and turned to look at the driver. Mike sat as upright as possible in the seat, looked straight out the windshield, guided the engine to her destination. He turned back and looked out over the fire. The blaze was largely contained, and the hardest job now was just extinguishing it completely. Marco sighed, coughed a little, felt grit in his mouth.

Engine 43 was waiting for them, along with Roy and Johnny, who were putting their gear on.

"It's Brice," Roy explained, "He went in after someone, and the other fireman came out but not Brice. They never met up, and no one's heard from Brice in a while."

Something clenched in Marco's gut. This north exposure had been troublesome, kept spotting, had no protection from the wind that kept shifting unexpectedly. Craig Brice could very well be dead in there. Marco shook the thought out of his head. _I can't think like that._ Brice was too smart to be dead. Surely, if he'd been in danger, he'd have figure something out. The young paramedic generally got on everyone's nerves, but no one wanted anything bad to happen to him. He felt Mike step up beside him and looked up at him.

Mike was an anomaly in that he genuinely rather liked Brice. The young paramedic was generally considered too odd to be 'normal' and was found to be kind of abrasive. Perhaps it was because Mike was quiet and a good listener that Brice felt comfortable around him. They didn't hang out on their days off or anything, but they did get along.

"I've already called in the chopper," 43's captain told them, "It's gonna be rough in there without enough water if something flares up again, and I don't know how far away that tanker is."

The men of 51s hummed in agreement. The tank on their engine could only pump at full capacity for maybe five minutes before it went dry, and it was nowhere near enough to fight what could crop up. They all wanted to charge in, wanted to find Brice and bring him out, but the situation needed assessment. The muffled _thup-thup_ of chopper blades reached Marco's ears. Everyone looked to the southern horizon. Marco heard indistinct radio chatter, watched the chopper empty its tank over the scene, saw it circle over the area.

"Alright," Capt. Ramos said, "Copter 2 says they think the fire is all out, only saw one hotspot and extinguished it. No sign of Brice, though."

"We'll find him," Johnny assured him, "We'll bring him back."

"Good. Kid's annoying as hell, but God help me, I would miss him."

Copter 2 called in another confirmation of a clear scene, and both 43s and 51s headed into the scorched forest in search of their comrade.

xXxXx

Johnny and Roy decided to split up, as did the other paramedic from 43s. If they were all clumped up together, they might as well not be there at all. By splitting up, they could cover more ground, effectively could be multiple places at once. Johnny's long legs carried him over the charred debris of the forest floor, ears listening attentively for the telltale crack of wood overhead that would alert him to a falling limb. That happened to him once, broke four of his ribs.

He listened also for Brice's voice, for a call for help, a cry of pain. A haze of smoke hung in the air as he pulled off his air mask. Woodsmoke sat in his nose and throat, lightly burning but not unpleasant. Johnny paused and looked around. Everything around him was black and charred. _Think. Look for anomalies. What doesn't belong?_ He looked for the tan turnouts of LA County, the black helmet, the yellow air tank. He sought any signs of life and movement, just as he'd been trained to do. Muffled shouts of Brice's name sounded around him, all seeking the lost paramedic.

 _Why did he do it though?_ Johnny knew why he ran headlong into dangerous situations. He was kind of reckless, and if he did it, Roy didn't have to. Brice wasn't reckless… but Brice could also read a situation. His partner had a family, as did the missing fireman. _Shit, I woulda done the same thing._ He almost wanted to laugh.

He stopped again in the middle of a small clearing, turning, looking, listening. There would be a clue. There had to be. Frustration and fear mingled in his stomach. He cast a careful gaze around himself, around the clearing. A pile of debris caught his attention. Johnny approached it carefully, mindful that it could be a wounded animal of some sort under there, steadied his breathing. The pile shifted almost imperceptibly. He wet his lips and reached out.

Johnny jumped like a jackrabbit, letting out an undignified noise and series of curses, as the debris pile scattered with a yelp. Brice jerked away violently, suddenly stilled, blinked owlishly. Johnny was sure he looked much the same.

"Gage? Is-? Is that you?"

"Yeah… yeah, it's me, Brice," he answered shakily, "You okay-"

If it were anyone else, Johnny would have laughed and brushed it off. After all, plenty of people, even firemen, were given to hugging when rescued. Brice, however, was not one of those people. He was quiet, withdrawn, didn't like excessive shows of even friendly affection. It was understandable, therefore, that Johnny was extremely surprised when Brice threw his arms around him and held tight. A beat passed before Johnny responded, holding Brice in turn, feeling him shaking.

"Hey," Johnny said quietly, "C'mon, pal, you're alright now. I got ya… You're safe now…"

"I thought… I was certain I was going to die," Brice murmured, "I thought-"

"We wouldn't let that happen. You're not gonna die."

"I thought no one would come for me."

Johnny barely heard the words, barely believed he actually heard them correctly. Brice continued in the same nearly inaudible tone, "I thought since no-no one likes me, no one w-would come for me… tha-that I would be left-"

"Stop that," Johnny told him firmly, gently, "Just-Just stop thinkin' like that. We would never leave you behind, okay? Never in a million years."

He tightened his arms around the younger man as Chet approached. Fear and sadness clouded the brightness of his eyes. The lineman whispered, "Is that-? Is he-?"

"He's alive, Chet. Here… help me out, man… call Cap, would ya?... Great, c'mere… let's get him outta here so I can check him over better…"

Brice's knees buckled slightly when they pulled him to his feet, but he managed to regain his footing and allowed himself to be led back to the apparatus. He leaned heavily on Johnny the whole way. If Chet was confused or surprised, he said nothing, something for which Johnny was extremely grateful. Everyone was waiting for them back at the apparatus.

"There you are!" Capt. Ramos exclaimed, "What happened, Brice?"

Brice opened his mouth to reply, but Johnny spoke instead, saying, "You can tell the story later, pal. For now, be quiet and let me look you over."

"No… No, I-I'm fi-"

A hacking cough stopped him, made him double over, made Johnny raise an eyebrow. He carefully led Brice over to Squad 51, forcing him to sit.

"Here, lemme put the ox- Don't be like that, Brice. Lemme put the oxygen on you… There you go… You know the drill. Just breathe. I'm gonna take your vitals…"

Brice was still shaking finely. Johnny pretended not to notice the two clean streaks on Brice's sooty face as he tended to him, carefully checking and rechecking the other paramedic's vitals.

"Hey, Brice, I really think you oughta go to Rampart," Johnny said quietly.

Brice shook his head, told him, "No, I'm fine," pulled off the oxygen mask, promptly leaned sideways and vomited. Johnny moved just in time. He knelt by the younger man as he heaved, rubbing his back soothingly until he stopped.

"I want you to go to Rampart."

"I-… I agree," he rasped.

"Good. Wait here a minute…"

He jogged over to Roy and Cap, told them, "I wanna take Brice to Rampart."

"Yeah, that's a good idea," Cap said, "Take the squad down to the staging area and we'll meet you there, Gage."

"You gonna ride with him in the ambulance?" Roy asked.

"I think I should, yeah. He was, uh… he was pretty shook up."

"Okay. You ride in with him, and I'll meet you there in the squad."

Thankfully, Brice was where Johnny left him. He drove as carefully as possible, not wanting to jostle his patient too much. _At least he's not urgent. That could get messy._

xXxXx

Brice was fidgeting by the time he was loaded into the ambulance. The fear and anxiety were finally wearing off, leaving him tired and ready to go home. Ideally, he'd like to simply go back to work. A series of hacking coughs ripped through his lungs and throat, however, and he knew work would not be an option for some time. Gage was very polite, helped him sit up, held the oxygen mask for him. Brice was not used to such care, not where he was concerned.

He would never say his childhood was bad, not with some of the things he's seen in his career, but it was far from ideal. Craig Brice was a middle child, loved by his parents but certainly the least loved of his siblings. Odd, too quiet until he was too talkative, too smart for his own good, he retreated into medical books and journals. He was left to his own devices most of the time, left to handle cruel words and harsh bullies on his own, left to figure out how to defend himself.

"Hi, Brice… Johnny here tells me you're not having a red letter day."

He looked to Dr. Early, taking in the kind, gently teasing countenance of the older doctor, and carefully shook his head. Early smiled, said, "I can tell. Are you hurting anywhere?"

"My back," he rasped after a moment, "Something-… something fell and struck me."

"Then let's have a look at it. Johnny, would you help me? I just need to get his coat and shirt off… Yeah, that'll work… Perfect, now let's have a look- oh dear… You certainly were struck…"

 _Of course I was struck. I would not lie about something like that._ Brice cleared his throat, coughed for a moment, asked, "Gage… would you describe it for me? The injury?"

"Sure, I guess I can… umm, well, it-it's a pretty big bruise, Brice…stretches all the way from the left shoulder almost to the right hip… about six inches wide, maybe a 'lil more. Looks like a tree branch to me. Everything feel okay? Ribs feel okay and everything, I mean?"

"I believe so. I don't have any abdominal tenderness or pain in my chest."

"That's good, then. Cracked ribs are the worst. Trust me."

"Johnny's right. Alright, Brice, I'm gonna listen to your lungs now. You don't want pneumonia or worse setting in. Has the oxygen been helping?"

"Yes, quite a bit."

Brice pulled in a deep breath, or at least he tried to. He started coughing again. Gage squeezed his shoulder gently in a gesture of solidarity. Brice was quite unused to it. He tended to alienate himself, though he never did it on purpose. People were just put off by him, by his excess of knowledge and information and desire to speak of them to other people. He tried to make friends. It just never worked. Brice flinched when Early pressed the stethoscope to his back, touching the bruised flesh as gently as possible. Gage's fingers tightened against his bare shoulder.

 _It's cold in here… always too cold._ He shivered slightly, wondered when he could put his shirt back on. Brice felt very exposed. _I want to go home._ Early stepped back, adopted a calm smile, told him, "I don't like your lung sounds very much, Brice. I'd like to keep you overnight for observation, just to make sure nothing goes wrong. There might be internal injuries that haven't manifested yet."

"But I feel fine, doctor. I-"

"Shut up, kid, and listen to Early. You know he's right."

Brice sighed. _Yes. I do._ He let his body sag, a sign of defeat he knew they would recognize. Gage sat with him in the treatment room while they waited for a bed in recovery. The rest of 51s came in with him not long after, all milling about to check on him. The men of 43s did not come. Brice swallowed down the hurt feelings, just as he always did. This was no different from any other time. Stoker stepped up to speak with him while Gage stepped away.

"How are you feelin', Brice?" Stoker asked quietly.

"Fine, I suppose. I'm not able to breathe too well, and I have a substantial contusion on my back that hurts, but I'm largely uninjured."

"Good. That's good. We were worried about you, y'know. You did a dangerous thing, when you tried that rescue. You coulda been hurt a lot worse."

"I know. The risk seemed worth it at the time… still does seem worth it."

Stoker's smile was soft and gentle and warm, so unlike what he was used to.

"You're a good man, Brice," he said after a moment, "We should tell you more often."

Brice had to look away. He didn't want Stoker to see the tears in his eyes.

xXxXx

"Ugh, I'm beat," Mike grumbled as he and Marco finally stumbled into their apartment.

Marco was too exhausted to reply. The fire had kicked back up after Brice's injury, and the remaining firemen had been pushed to their limits. There was not a part of Marco's body that didn't hurt after almost three full days at the brush fire; he knew Mike was the same. Both took showers at the station to remove the worst of the dirt and grime, neither wanting to track it into their home.

"I dunno about you," Marco said, "but I could use a hot bath right about now. Things hurt I didn't even know I had."

"Same… a hot bath sounds amazing."

It was a tight fit, but the two men managed to get into the bath together, Mike's back pressed to Marco's chest. Marco sighed contentedly. His lover's body was a warm, comforting weight. He carded his fingers through the still-damp brown hair, gently massaging and stroking. His other hand rested against Mike's chest, brown against white. A pleasant buzz began to fill his body, Mike's fingers teasing their way along his calves and thighs.

Marco's hand slid over Mike's chest, and he let his thumb slowly work a pink nipple. Mike made a soft noise, dropped his head onto Marco's shoulder, briefly gripped his thighs. It felt very good indeed. Marco went to task kissing the beautiful neck he'd been presented, letting his lips and teeth and tongue work in perfect concert. They were a distraction, a perfect distraction. Mike moaned low in his throat, focused on Marco's lips rather than the hand that was no longer in his hair. Marco moved on to Mike's shoulder, gently bit and laved it with his tongue as his right hand wrapped around Mike's cock.

There was a soft gasp in his ear, and Mike pressed back against his body. _Perfect…_

"Mm… I've got you right where I want you," Marco murmured against the shoulder, "Got you all warm and soft…"

"I won't be soft for long, not if you keep this up."

"Yeah?"

He fixed his lips to Mike's neck once more, this time working his way around to his lover's lips, delighting in their pliant eagerness. Mike's cock quickly stiffened in his hand, responding to his slow, methodical strokes. He moaned into Marco's mouth. Marco swallowed it down, nipping gently at Mike's lips. His left hand still stroked Mike's chest, still took special care to tease at his sensitive nipples. Though his legs were bracketed in by Marco's, Mike let them fall open as best he could.

"Please, babe…I-I need more," Mike moaned, "Go faster…"

"No… I'm gonna bring you off just like this, nice and slow and easy. You worked so hard the last few days, and I think you deserve something very, very nice, _mi amor_."

Marco continued his careful ministrations, pumped gently, twisted ever so slightly on the upstroke, just as he knew Mike liked. He looked down along his lover's body. Mike's thighs twitched against his, the muscles of his belly shivering as he tried not to move too much. Breathy moans escaped his throat, his breath warm against Marco's ear. Marco returned his attention to Mike's throat, and he felt the other man's moan rumble through his chest.

"I know I tell you all the time," Marco whispered huskily, "but you're so fuckin' beautiful… so perfect… I can't believe you're mine… all mine…"

"Ye-Yes, Marco… all yours…"

"I love takin' care of you like this… I love watching you fall apart… love makin' you feel so safe and loved. I love you so much, Mike, _mi amor_ , _mi tesoro_ … I would do anything for you, anything you asked. I would kill for you, die for you… anything… all for you…"

Mike did not respond, was perhaps incapable of coherent speech at the moment. His hands gripped at Marco's thighs very close to his buttocks, fingertips pressing into his flesh. Marco knew he was on the edge, could feel it as if it were his own body. He kissed along the stubbled jaw, murmured in his ear, " _Mi querido_ … _mi hermoso ángel_ … cum for me… let go… let me see you cum for me, baby…"

A loud groan rumbled through Mike's body. Marco felt it against his chest. He felt Mike's cock twitching in his hand, felt it slicked with hot cum, felt Mike's hips stutter. Mike slumped against his chest, limp and sated, a lazy grin on his face.

"You're incredible," he sighed.

Marco chuckled and nudged at Mike's cheek. Mike obliged him, turning and pressing his lips to Marco's in a gentle kiss. Marco's own cock was still hard and aching, but he could ignore it for the time being, focused on the perfection of Mike's mouth.

Shortly thereafter, both men exited the tub, and Marco's erection was readily apparent. Mike smirked. _Oh, I'm in for it now._ He gently toweled off Marco's body, careful to avoid his groin, clearly had something special in mind. Even that simple act was almost enough to put him over the edge. Mike led him into their bedroom, gently pushed him onto the bed, straddled him.

"It's my turn to take care of you," Mike told him softly, "I'm gonna take real good care of you…"

He wasted no time, putting his lips around Marco's cock and swallowing him to his base. Marco cried out. His hips bucked of their own accord. Mike let him go, let him fuck up into his mouth, and when Marco came (almost taking him by surprise), Mike swallowed it all. The only trace of cum was a thin, white trickle of liquid at the corner of his mouth. Mike crawled up and kissed him slowly, and Marco would've gotten hard again at the taste of himself in Mike's mouth if he wasn't so exhausted. The two of them slept soundly for almost the entire day.


	25. The Noble Dog Be Found

_**Warnings: minor character death, death of a pet, some language**_

 _ **Title of the chapter taken from George Graham Vest, "Eulogy on the Dog," (1870)**_

 _ **Sorry to do this again, but I will be going on another brief hiatus, hopefully just a month again. This time, it's all Star Wars' fault. The desire to write fic for that has taken over my life, and while I still love this fic, Star Wars is eating my brain right now. I promise I will see this fic through to the end, but I need some time to get the Star Wars out and the E! back in. Love you all!**_

* * *

Mike was in the back of the engine when Johnny wandered into the bay, hanging his head, looking rather forlorn. He watched him silently for a moment, finally asked, "You okay?" to get his attention. Brown eyes peered up at him from under a mop of brown hair.

"If you have a minute, I could use a hand up here, and you could tell me what's up," Mike offered.

"Yeah, I have a minute. Whatcha doin' up there, anyway?"

"Just some minor maintenance checks," Mike replied, "Wanna make sure we got fresh blades on everything, make sure the hydraulics on the jaws are good, see if they need more fluid. Pretty much got all the blades changed, and I was gonna get the jaws down to check the lines and bleed 'em if they need it."

Johnny clambered up to join him, and they worked together for a few minutes, clearing the way and finally started to get the jaws down.

"Mike," Johnny spoke up after a moment, his voice quiet, "Boot's gonna die soon."

The words stung, but Mike couldn't pretend he didn't know it already. Johnny continued, "We know it. We all know it. He's barely been eating, had accidents indoors, can't jump up on the couch or bunks anymore. You hear him whinin' the other night when he couldn't get into Chet's bunk?"

"Yeah… he didn't stop until Chet picked him up and put him there."

"Exactly. Look, I'm just sayin', I think someone oughta talk to Chet about it," Johnny said as they bled the lines out back, "I grew up on a ranch with all kinds of animals, and I know sometimes you just wanna keep denyin' it, wanna pretend everything's alright, but there comes a point when decisions hafta be made."

"Did you ever have to-… y'know… ever have to put an animal down yourself?" Mike asked.

He didn't think he'd ever be able to do it. He'd seen police officers dispatch deer and other animals severely wounded in car accidents, and it turned his stomach every time. _When it's a part of life, something that needs to be done, I guess you get used to it._

"I mean, yeah, I had to," Johnny shrugged as he lubed up some parts for the jaws, "Nearest vet was hours away. Maybe only saw him there three or four times a year. We had to take care of things ourselves. Wasn't fun, never liked doin' it, but it was what was best for the animal, so we did it."

Mike simply nodded in understanding. They'd had a dog when he was young, a bully mutt that had followed him home and he'd called Cookie. (He used a cookie to gain her trust.) They had her for only five years when she got sick and had to be put down. His parents made him go with them to the vet. Looking back on it, he was glad they did. Still, that was the only experience he had with this kind of situation in all his years. He turned his attention back to the jaws, adding the fluid and checking the pressure. For a moment, he felt good, his hands stained with dirt and grease and hydraulic fluid.

"Why don't you talk to Chet about everything?" Mike suggested.

"Me? Why me?"

"You have experience with the situation. You'll know more about what he's feeling and how to get through it and all that. Personally, I think it would be best coming from you."

"I-I dunno, Mike, I think it should be you or Marco."

Mike shook his head, replying, "Not this round. You guys are friends, good friends, and you're the same age. It would be better coming from you this time, Johnny."

Johnny chewed his lip, not answering. Mike could practically see his gears turning, watched him go over the information in his mind. He wiped his dirty hands on a rag, trying to get the worst of it off. The two men went into the latrine to wash their hands.

"Mike… do you-?" Johnny started, wet his lips, asked quietly, "Do you really think I'm the best choice for this?"

"Yes, I do. Like I said, you're good friends, and he really does like you, thinks a lot of you. I just think it would be better coming from you because you're the same age. Me and Marco and Cap… we're older, and-… well, sometimes Chet can kinda act like a kid, but he's a big boy, really. Problem is, sometimes me and Marco have a tendency to still treat him like a kid. I'm one of the worst offenders of mothering, especially where Chet's concerned. You won't do that. You won't tiptoe around what's happening, won't try to treat him like a kid, won't try to spare his feelings. You'll tell him the truth."

"What, and you won't?"

"Chet's been through a lotta bad shit," Mike explained softly, "Honestly, if I were to be the one to talk to him, I'd wanna try to protect him, protect his feelings. Not that I'm sayin' you don't care about him enough to want to protect his feelings. I'm not sayin' that at all. I'm sayin' you know what has to be done, and you'll do it because you care."

 _God, I hope that sounded the same way it did in my head._ Johnny's expression was inscrutable. He simply looked at Mike for a long moment.

"Where's Chet now?"

"I think he's-"

The tones dropped, call for the squad, child with trouble breathing. Johnny hurried out to the bay, Mike not far behind. He stood by the engine and watched as the squad pulled away, Marco stepping up beside him. His presence was comforting and familiar.

"What's wrong?"

Mike turned to look at Marco, saw the dark eyes were full of concern.

"I just can't hide anything from you, can I?"

"Nope. You're an open book."

Mike sighed quietly, told him, "It's about Boot."

Marco hummed, nodded, said nothing. Mike continued, "Johnny looked kinda down, and that was why. I told him he oughta talk to Chet about it."

"I think you're right. We've been tiptoeing around this for too long," Marco agreed, "I think-… I guess we're just too afraid to hurt Chet's feelings. I mean, Boot's basically his dog, even the other shifts say so, say that Boot doesn't like anyone else as much as he likes Chet."

"I know, and so it should be Chet that makes any decisions here… I just wish we didn't have to put it all on him."

Marco gave another little hum of agreement.

xXxXx

"I never thought I'd say this, but you're bein' too quiet," Roy said to Johnny in the squad, "C'mon, Junior, just tell me what's wrong."

"Who said anything's wrong?"

"It's all over your face. Talk to me."

Johnny didn't reply right away, seemed to be putting his thoughts together, stared out the windshield with his finger over his lips. _That's his pensive look. I hope I don't need to be worried._ When Johnny thought too much, that usually meant he was coming up with some kind of crazy plan for God-Knows-What. Roy had a sinking feeling that was not the case this time.

"It's about Boot, Roy," he said at last.

Roy wasn't sure what to say to that. Everyone was able to see what was happening with Boot. The little mutt had been a part of their station for several years now, but he was showing signs of advanced age. It was the elephant in the room. _No one wants to take an old dog to the vet._ Roy thought back to the time Chet had yelled at Boot and upset him, making everyone think the dog was sick. Everyone was tripping over themselves to take him to the vet then, but not now, not with him showing much more obvious signs his end was near.

"What about him?" Roy asked simply.

"You know what," Johnny replied, "I'm worried is all. Chet really likes that dog. I dunno, I talked to Mike about it, and he said I oughta be the one to talk to Chet about what needs to be done, but I'm not sure."

"Why not? You're his friend."

"Sure, but I'm not good at-at havin' talks with people. I always fuck up, say the wrong thing, make 'em more upset. I like Chet. I don't wanna hurt him."

"Well, the way I see it, this whole thing is gonna hurt him one way or another. Like you said, Chet loves that dog. This isn't exactly gonna be easy on him."

"I know that. I ain't stupid. I just-… What do I even say?"

"The truth."

Roy was hardly one to cast the first stone here. He was just as guilty of mothering Chet as anyone, just as guilty of trying to hide the truth from him. Technically, Chet was the youngest member of the station, only by a few months, and for whatever reason, everyone tended to kind of treat him like a child. Roy thought perhaps it was because of his immature behavior, his occasional clinginess, and his devotion to Boot. When that was paired with what little they knew of his past, they all wanted to keep Chet as happy as possible.

"Look, just-… don't overthink it," Roy told him, "That's when you get yourself into trouble, when you overthink. It's Chet. Just talk to him and tell him the truth."

"It's not that easy, Roy. I can't- I can never find the right words to say when it comes to this kinda thing."

"Try and treat it like Boot's a patient and Chet's his family member. That's something you know."

"Yeah… yeah, I guess I could do that… That might work…"

Johnny fell back into his pensive silence; Roy dropped into one of his own. It was never easy to tell someone a loved one was dying. Thankfully, it wasn't always their job as they were usually too busy, working too fast, but sometimes it fell to them to break bad news. _It's not any easier when it's someone you know._ He knew the feeling. Doctors usually left it to firemen to tell another fireman's family he was dead, and it had been his sacred duty a number of times. This was a bit different, though, even if they considered Boot a part of their family.

Back at the station, Roy sought out Marco, who was found with Mike in the day room. Both greeted him as he stepped up.

"You okay, Roy?" Marco asked, "You look like something's bothering you."

"Talked to Johnny in the squad on the way back from Rampart," Roy replied, "He's, uh, he's upset about Boot… and upset that Chet's upset about Boot. He said you talked to him, Mike."

"Yeah, he helped me with some equipment maintenance and we talked it over. Why?"

"I guess you didn't do a good enough job convincing him he's the man for the job."

"What job?"

"Talking to Chet about his options as far as Boot is concerned."

"Oh… That job…"

"He's still worried he'll screw it up and make it worse," Roy told them.

"I'm not sure how he could make it any worse," Marco commented.

"True… I mean, really, this is kinda all our faults, for letting it go so long," Roy said, "We can't pretend we haven't been tryin' to spare his feelings, been pretending everything's okay when it hasn't been. We're all guilty of it."

"I know I am," Mike sighed, "I like him, and I know he's had a shitty go at life. I'm the worst offender when it comes to treating him like a kid, to mothering him."

"You say that like I'm any better, _querido_. Didn't really occur to me that we weren't doin' him any favors."

"That's why I told Johnny he oughta talk to him. They're the same age, so it's less likely he'll treat him like a kid," Mike spoke up.

"I think you have a point, Mike, and I agree with you. I think Johnny's the best person out of all of us, especially because he used to live on a ranch. He's used to stuff like this, not numb to it, but used to it. He won't pull any punches, won't coddle him. I think that's what Chet needs."

The other two men agreed, stayed silent for a long moment.

"So, we all think Johnny's right for the job," Marco said, "How do we convince him?"

Roy replied, "We don't. Put too much pressure on him, and he's gonna crack. Work is completely different from his personal life. As a paramedic, John can do anything. As a regular twenty-seven year old guy, not so much. That's where he doubts himself when stuff like this is concerned."

More murmurs of agreement followed. Johnny was a good kid, after all. He always managed to do the right thing, even if it aggravated everyone else. He was sweet and kind and good-hearted, and that was what Chet needed now. Chet needed someone who would be there for him but wouldn't sugarcoat what was happening. Johnny was able to do that. Roy sighed quietly and sat back in the chair.

xXxXx

A soft rustling pulled Hank from his already restless sleep. Boot's crying earlier hadn't helped his rest, either. He heard the sheets rustle again and picked up his head. In the darkness, he could see one of his firemen moving, sat up marginally to get a better look. Chet had gathered up his bedclothes and the little mutt and was heading out of the dorm. Hank briefly wondered if perhaps Boot had soiled the sheets, but he didn't smell anything, and he was fairly certain Chet would not have wrapped himself up in soiled sheets. _Where is he going?_

Hank was about to get up and follow him when he heard someone else moving. He decided to wait, stayed very still, watched as Johnny passed by in his bunkers and followed Chet out of the dorm. Everyone else remained asleep.

 _Good. Go talk to him, pal._ Hank was as guilty as everyone else in coddling Chet. Perhaps it was because he was a father and has had to have the same talk with his girls before. He never liked doing it, not that he thought anyone really did, but Hank's emotions sometimes got the better of him. Johnny, though he'd never addressed what was going on with Boot, had at least never tried to pretend it wasn't happening.

Johnny and Chet had evolved together over their time at Station 51. Hank hadn't been there from the beginning, but he'd been there for a long time and had seen quite a bit. They tended to bicker a lot, antagonize one another, but he could see the friendship that wasn't buried quite so deep as either of them seemed to think, could see they liked and respected each other. A number of times, when one or the other was hurt, he could see the affection rise up and take over only for both to deny it later. There was even one time Johnny almost quit after Chet was injured and Johnny felt it was his fault.

Hank quietly got to his feet, shivering against the October night air, and padded to the door that led into the bay. Soft voices carried through the quiet station from the day room, and Hank stepped closer to listen.

"…okay to miss him," Johnny was saying, "It's okay to be sad. There's nothin' wrong with that."

"I know… I know… It's just hard. I-I don't know if I can be in there with him when they do it," Chet sniffed, voice thick.

"He'll look for you if you're not there."

"How do you know?"

"How else? Seen it happen. We had a dog that was real fond of my aunt, and he got too old. Same kinda thing like what's goin' on with Boot. Well, my aunt didn't wanna be there when Uncle Henry shot him, so she wasn't. That poor dog looked so sad… Now, we had another dog, my dog, best damn cattle dog ya ever saw… she got kicked by a cow and was hurt so bad she had to be put down, and I went with Uncle Henry to do it. She didn't look sad like Winchester did… no, 'lil Poppy looked content, at peace, like she knew what was happening and was ready. Think it's 'cause I was there with her. She knew it was okay."

Hank peered into the day room carefully, not wanting them to know he was listening. Chet had nestled himself in front of the couch, Boot wrapped up in the blankets with him, and Johnny was sitting beside him in his bunkers, pressed close to his side.

"He's always been there for me," Chet said quietly, "You've seen it. Any time we have a bad run, he's right there to make me feel better. He just sits with me, and-… I dunno, he just makes it better. Sometimes, I even- nevermind."

"What is it, Chet?"

"No, it's stupid. You'll laugh."

"I won't laugh. I promise."

Chet sighed quietly and said, "Sometimes, I like to talk to him, to Boot. I know it's silly, but I really feel like he listens to me. I'll talk to him after a bad run or when I'm feelin' down about somethin' or even if I just have a problem I can't figure out. I feel like he understands, like he gets me, y'know?"

"Yeah, I know how you feel. I had a horse like that once…"

Hank stepped away, left the two young men alone to talk freely, went back to bed. He hoped the night would remain quiet so the two could continue to speak. _Poor Chet…_ From what little he knew of Chet's life, the young man didn't really have friends outside the station and none outside the department. He didn't seem to have a bad childhood, never really hid anything about his time growing up, but his teenage years and beyond were a mystery save for his Army service. Johnny was more of an open book, and maybe that was what Chet needed.

Sleep finally came to Hank after a little while, waking with their morning alarm. The other firemen grumbled, not quite waking up all the way. Hank stepped into his bunkers and quietly went into the kitchen. Johnny and Chet were still nestled on the floor in front of the couch, though both were awake, both holding mugs of coffee. Hank asked, "You fellas been out here all night?"

They looked up at him, still looking tired as though they hadn't slept much.

"Most of it," Johnny replied, "I made the coffee."

Hank poured himself a cup and sat at the table, waiting for the rest of his crew to emerge. Johnny and Chet remained in their place. Roy went to sit by them on the couch, letting his leg rest close to Johnny. When Mike and Marco emerged, they put together something for breakfast, not that anyone really ate. The general attitude was very subdued, all knowing what was likely to happen at the vet's office in a couple hours.

xXxXx

If Marco was being honest, he had been rather hurt when Johnny had told everyone that he was the one Chet had wanted with him if the vet had to put Boot down. Marco and Mike had been there for Chet through a whole lot of bad stuff, and something like jealousy rose up in his chest when Johnny had made that announcement. _No, I can't be mad. It's our fault. Maybe if we'd been honest with him, he'd want us there instead._ His ride home from the vet's office with Mike was silent, neither ready to talk. They had two little furry friends of their own at home.

The whole thing was just sad. As if they didn't deal with enough death in their job, now it was with them in their time off, too. Marco's fingers twitched. He had so badly wanted to hold Mike's hand in the while waiting for Chet and Johnny, but he couldn't, not in public, not where people could see. Now, in the safety of Mike's truck, he reached over, feeling blindly. Rough fingers twined with his, and he felt comforting warmth blossom in his chest. He wanted this day to be over, for the sadness to go away, for this to all have been a sad and terrible dream he would wake from.

The cats greeted them warmly, Rosa and Tito meowing loudly to announce that it was far past their breakfast time. Marco quickly put out their food, smiling faintly at their noisy purrs. _They're so big… They're six now._ He pushed the bad thoughts from his mind. Rosa and Tito were perfectly healthy little terrors and would be for years to come.

"Marco, babe? You okay?"

He turned. Mike stood in the living room, not quite wringing his hands, his brow knitted. Marco sighed, "Yeah, I'm okay, I guess… Today was just heavy, y'know… especially when I think about them," he gestured to the cats, "That's a decision I'm gonna have to make one day, that we'll have to make one day."

"Yes, but not for a long time to come. We still have plenty of time with Rosa and Tito, and we're gonna make the most of it. C'mere…"

Mike held open his arms, and Marco stepped into them willingly, needing the comfort and warmth. He wrapped his arms around Mike's waist, rested his head on Mike's shoulder, breathed slow and deep. They stood embracing for a long moment. It seemed to take them away for a time, to take away the sadness and grief and knowledge that their friend was so very sad and not there with them. _Chet will be okay. Johnny's with him. Johnny will take good care of him, the very best._

" _Mrow_!"

Marco and Mike both looked down. Tito was gazing up at them with those yellow eyes of his, one of his paws raised as if to tap Marco on the leg. He meowed again. Marco smiled, dutifully bending to pick up the large cat as Rosa trotted over to rub against his leg. (Rosa did not like being held or cuddled like Tito did.) Tito rubbed against Marco's chin, purring loudly, his joy at being held apparent.

"Yes," he told his furball, "we're gonna be together for a long time yet… you and your sister and me and Mike… We have plenty of time."

Mike pressed a kiss to Marco's temple and cheek, rested his head on his shoulder, let Tito sniff at his nose. Some of Marco's heartache eased.

xXxXx

Johnny's heart sank as the vet told them wasn't any other recourse for Boot.

"At this point, it's my professional opinion that it would be best to put Boot here out of his suffering," the vet told them, her voice sad but professional, "We can take care of it now if you'd prefer. Will all of you be staying in the room?"

Johnny's eyes flickered over his shiftmates.

"No," Chet spoke up, "just-… just me and Johnny are gonna stay."

 _They heard it from Chet now, straight from the horse's mouth._ He had worried a little about how they would take it, but no one seemed particularly put out. The guys all said goodbye to Boot, petting and scratching and even giving little kisses, giving Chet words of encouragement. They filed out one by one, leaving Chet and Johnny alone with Boot as Dr. Varnold returned.

"Well, gentlemen, I've got the shots here. The first one is a muscle relaxer and sedative to keep him calm, and the second is the one that, well, the one that finishes it. I'll administer the first one now and give it time to take effect."

Johnny watched her administer the shot with the same care and efficiency he would with a human patient. Chet sniffed loudly, sitting beside the exam table, gently petting Boot. He spoke in a low voice to the little dog. The words weren't intelligible to Johnny, but he supposed they didn't have to be. _He's saying goodbye to his friend. Those are words only Boot has to hear, not anybody else… even me._ Johnny just sat close by, a hand on Chet's shoulder, squeezing gently. He did not want to see his friend suffering like this. He never liked it when they were hurt or sad, liked it even less than a person normally would he suspected. He took it personally, almost, that he couldn't do anything to help them in their time of need. He wondered what was going through Chet's mind, as if he didn't already know, as if he hadn't already lived it before.

Dr. Varnold administered the second shot. A choked noise escaped Chet's throat, his shoulders jumping under Johnny's hand. He squeezed a little tighter. He remained silent still, not knowing words that would do any good, knowing that words wouldn't do any good. He could hear Chet speaking now, a broken stream of, "It's okay, Boot… s'okay… just like goin' to sleep… all you're doin' is goin' to sleep, pal… I-I'm gonna miss you, Boot. I'm gonna miss you so much… You're my 'lil buddy, remember that, okay, Boot? Boo-Boot?"

That was it. Johnny looked and saw it plain as day. Boot was gone. Chet choked down another sob that sounded terribly like 'Goodbye,' broken though it was. Johnny swallowed around the lump in his throat. The vet looked very sad. _She's still young. How many goodbyes has she already seen?_ She stepped up and whispered, "You just leave whenever you're ready. We'll make sure the remains are taken care of how you'd like."

Johnny thanked her softly and sat with Chet for a few moments longer, waiting patiently for him to rein in his emotions. Finally, Chet gave a loud sniff, stood, headed to the door; Johnny followed. Chet put his hand on the doorknob and stopped.

"What is it, pal?" Johnny asked, "What's wrong?"

Chet shook his head, his body tense, but he said nothing. Johnny sighed. He carefully turned his friend to face him and told him gently, "Look, I don't want you alone the rest of the day, but I also sure as hell don't want you feelin' overwhelmed or like you can't feel sad. I'll take you home, and I'll stay with you. We'll just tell the guys I'm takin' you home and we'll get your car tomorrow or somethin' or whatever you want, okay? We'll get through this, alright? C'mon, let's 'bye to the fellas…"

He waited, allowing Chet to take a few steadying breaths, noting his eyes were wet but his face dry. Together, they headed out into the waiting room where their shiftmates were sitting, all looking much the same. Each of them made offers to go to breakfast or sit with him or have him for dinner, but Chet politely declined each one, said, "Thanks, but I'm just gonna have Johnny drive me home, and then I'll figure out gettin' my car tomorrow. I-… y'know, I really appreciate all you guys bein' here and bein' so nice. I mean it."

"Of course, Chet," Marco responded, "You call if you need anything, okay?"

"I will."

The others made similar offers before slowly heading out the door, piling into Cap's sedan.

"Don't you hafta stop home for a change of clothes or somethin'?" Chet asked in the Rover.

"Depends. Didja want me to stay the night?"

Color rose in Chet's cheeks, and he quickly stammered, "Well, Johnny, I-… I mean, I-… I-I couldn't im-impose on you like that. I don-don't-"

"It's okay, Chet, I don't mind. Like I told ya, whatever you want. Honestly, I always keep a change of clothes here in the Rover just in case. Never know when you'll need 'em. Now, what do you want? Do you want me to stay overnight?"

"Only if you-"

"No. What do _you_ want, Chet?"

He chewed his lip, his face still pink, and finally mumbled, "I want you to stay."

"Okay… okay, good. I'll stay. Wouldn't be the first time I crashed on your couch, after all."

Chet huffed, "Ain't that the truth," but said nothing else. He was very quiet, uncharacteristically so, but Johnny understood. _Grief can do that to people, makes 'em act different._ He just sat with Chet, let him sit quietly, knew he would speak in his own time. It was well into the night before he said anything related to what happened that day.

The lineman turned in early, saying he was just tired and worn out. Johnny let him go. _Not much I can really do to stop him. Can't force him to talk if he doesn't want to, after all,_ Johnny remained in the living room, idly watching TV on low volume. If Chet needed him, he'd be able to hear. He was dozing slightly when a sound caught his ear, muffled and quiet but there. He got to his feet and padded to Chet's bedroom, listening at the door. _Crying… he's crying._ Johnny pushed open the door and went in.

Chet didn't even notice. He lay curled up under his blankets, facing away from the door, crying as quietly as possible. Part of his paramedic mode clicked up, something in him that told him someone was hurting and needed help whether they wanted it or not. Johnny crossed over to him in quick strides, softly calling his name as he did so. Chet flinched sharply and sat up, scrambling to wipe at his face though his lip was trembling.

"What's wrong, Chet?" Johnny asked, sitting beside him, "Why didn't you say anything to me?"

"I-It's stupid," Chet replied, his voice broken, "He was just a 'lil dog that got old. We've seen so much bad, awful shit on this job, seen people die, seen kids die. That MVA a couple weeks ago-… why am I cryin' for a-a stupid 'lil dog when I didn't cry for a whole dead family?"

"Because you care about the stupid 'lil dog. Just what you said, we see a lot of bad shit. Now, I'm not sayin' we get numb to what we see on the job, but we kinda get used to it. Still hurts, still makes us sad. We just don't react at the moment 'cause we're too busy workin' or the moment passes, so we just put it away and move on. Then… then somethin' like this happens that stirs it all up. So really, right now, you ain't just cryin' for Boot. You are cryin' for that family and those dead kids and everything."

"How come you're not cryin'? Aren't you sad, too?"

"Sure, I'm sad. I loved Boot as much as anyone else. Just-… well, I think you were pretty lucky."

Chet knitted his brows, and Johnny explained, "Well, I told ya, I've seen plenty of animals put down livin' on a ranch… and on a ranch, nine times outta ten, we had to put 'em down ourselves with a gun. You got a chance to say a real goodbye, to sit with Boot until he was gone, got to look him in the eyes… I never had that, that's for sure. I wish we coulda just gave 'em all a shot and let 'em sleep. Bullet's kinda startling…"

"Did you-? You ever shot any of 'em yourself?"

"Yeah, had to."

"You ever… ever cry?"

"Sure, 'specially early on, when I was young. Did a few times when I was older, too, like when we had to put my horse Wiley down. Cried my eyes out the whole rest of the day. It only makes sense. Boot was your friend. Fella has a right to cry when his friend dies."

Johnny picked idly at his sweatpants, not looking at Chet though he could feel the blue eyes boring a hole in him. He cried when his buddy Drew died, when they lost kids in particularly horrible way, when they lost a fellow fireman. _Fella has a right to cry every so often. No shame in it._ The bed shifted as Chet moved, coming to rest and sitting next to Johnny, their shoulders pressed together.

"I-… I wanna thank you, Johnny," Chet mumbled, "For telling me the truth, for helpin' me through this, for bein' here for me… stayin' with me…"

"It's no big deal-"

"It is. It is a big deal. I know you and me don't always get along, that I've said some pretty shitty things to you in the past, but… but it's only 'cause-… 'cause I like you, consider you a-a good friend… a brother."

Something stirred happily in Johnny's chest. He replied, "Yeah, I know… that's why I take such good care of ya, pal. Gotta keep a friend like you around."

Chet leaned into him, and he leaned back, enjoying the warmth from Chet's body.

"It's gonna be awful different around the station without Boot," Chet said quietly, his voice thick again.

"Yep. Awful different," Johnny agreed, "I'll have one less person ignoring me."

Chet made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob, replying, "Yeah, Boot didn' like you too much."

"He sure didn't. Not sure what I ever did to him. I like dogs. You were just his favorite."

"I could get him do anything, pretty much," he sniffed, rested his head on Johnny's shoulder, "God, I'm gonna miss him so much."

"We all will."

"He was just always there for me. Not that you guys weren't, but Boot-… he made it better-"

Chet's voice choked off, and he started crying there on Johnny's shoulder. Johnny wrapped an arm around his shoulders, squeezing gently.

"It'll be okay, Chet," Johnny whispered, "You'll be alright, pal. I'm here for you."

He swallowed around the lump in his throat and finally allowed himself to cry there with his friend, finally let his tears. _I'm sure gonna miss that scruffy 'lil dog…_


	26. Just Think About It

_**Thanks so much to everyone who's been hanging in there. I just needed to get back on track with this little one, and I think I'm ready to keep going now that Star Wars is more out of my system.**_

 _ **Warnings: mild language, injury. Based off episode 5x20, 'The Great Crash Diet'.**_

* * *

Marco leaned back and heaved a sigh. _I love Chet. I really do… but I might kill him for this._ His stomach rumbled loudly, protesting the lack of food in the last few shifts thanks to Chet's sudden obsession with eating healthy. If he were any good at cooking, it might not be a problem. Chet, however, was a threat to everyone's well being when allowed into the kitchen. Everyone's patience was wearing thin, even Marco's and Mike's. Marco's stomach rumbled again.

Dr. Morton had unknowingly ruined their meals for a period of time, until they could find a way to convince Chet he wasn't doing any good or convince Morton to do so for them. Johnny and Roy could at least get out of the station and sneak some real food once in a while. The rest of them weren't able to escape Chet's health craze. Mike slumped over and dropped onto the couch beside him.

"I think my stomach is tryin' to eat itself," Mike grumbled, "I've never been this hungry ever in my life."

"I have been this hungry, but it somehow feels worse because there is food to eat but it's been rendered inedible. I wish he would just ask for help cooking. I don't have any problem eating healthy, but what he's doing is criminal."

"Agreed. I mean, the recipes are fine, just-"

The tones dropped. Marco and Mike shot to their feet and jogged to the engine.

" _Station 51, vehicle accident with injuries. 1300 block of Canyon Road. Cross street, Mulholland. Ambulance responding. Time out, 1415._ "

"Engine 51, KMG 365."

Marco settled in as Mike pulled the engine out onto the street, speeding toward Canyon and Mulholland. Chet fidgeted beside him, likely wondering the same as Marco, wondering what they would find when they arrived on scene. 'Injuries' was not the most descriptive of terms. Johnny and Roy would likely arrive first since they were coming from Rampart, so at least they would have the scene assessed. Marco took a few deep breaths, trying to control the rush of adrenaline coursing through him.

The first thing Marco noticed on scene was a blaring car horn, unceasing, most likely caused by the front-end damage to the involved car. Roy was with a man in a white suit and a black cowboy hat, probably the caller since he looked unhurt.

"Got a wire loose up there," Roy called to them, gesturing to the wire.

Cap and Chet hustled over to where the involved car was situated, both eyeing up the power line. Marco ran over after them, following Johnny to the victim. The horn was still blaring. Johnny began trying to pry the doors open with the crowbar, the doors crushed by the impact, the victim thankfully awake and coherent inside. The man in the suit was still talking aimlessly. _This could have been worse._ Marco hung back with Chet, not wanting to be in the way. Johnny and Roy tended to the patient. Cap pulled the wire to stop the car horn, and it became blessedly quiet when it did. Marco waited until he was needed.

"…Okay, does this hurt?" Johnny asked, feeling along the patient's spine.

"Uh-uh. No."

"Didn't hurt your back, huh?"

"Uh-uh, no."

"Okay… Alright now, let's see if, uh, can you sit back up just a 'lil bit?"

The man gave an affirmative. Johnny said, "You think so? If you're hurt, just tell me, alright?" and helped ease him into an upright position. Roy stepped away from the car to get the biophone, so Marco went around to take his place assisting Johnny as the paramedic took the patient's vitals, taking Johnny's helmet when it was passed to him. Marco set it down before hurrying back, stuffing himself in the open door.

"Now, if you can raise up just a hair…" Johnny said calmly, "There we go… there we go. Don't move too fast in any one direction, okay? Alright…"

Johnny turned to say something to Marco. There was an explosive sizzling as that loose power line came down, sparking against a chain fence and the car. Someone yelled. Roy went sprinting. Marco made to go with him, but Johnny grabbed him, shouted, "Marco, stay in here!"

He looked out the window. Cap had apparently been resting his hands on the car and was now lying on the ground, twitching, Roy protectively over him. The line sparked back to the transformer, and there was a loud bang as it blew.

"We got a fire!"

Roy's voice drew Marco's attention the opposite direction. Three small fires had started by the fence, surrounded by plenty of very flammable dry brush. _Perfect… That's all we need…_

xXxXx

Mike watched in horror as the power line came down, unable to call a warning as it touched off against the fence and car. Cap jumped back and crumpled to the ground. Mike's heart shot up into his throat. _Marco's in that car… So's Johnny and Roy._ He started forward, flinched at a loud bang, turned to see the transformer had blown.

"We got a fire!"

He turned back to the action, drawn by Roy's shout. Sure enough, three small fires had ignited not far from the car, but just far enough away to not be a major concern. _Still concerning though…_ Mike took a deep breath and made his brain switch into command mode. Cap was down, so he was in charge of the scene. His friends were his crew, and he needed to keep them safe.

Mike ran down to Cap and dragged him up the hill by his turnout, shouting, "Chet! Come on in here with a line!" before darting back to the engine.

"LA, Engine 51. We have a brush start with two separate ignition points. 1300 Canyon Road. Respond a brush assignment. Notify the power company the lines are down. We also have a Code I at this location."

" _Engne 51._ "

From the engine, Mike took a moment to assess the scene. Roy was working on Cap. Johnny had recruited the caller to help him extricate the patient. Chet was working to knock down the fires. Marco came running up the hill and retrieved the datascope for Roy.

xXxXx

"We got some fire right there!" Cap shouted.

Roy worked on getting Cap's turnout open, and he might have laughed at Cap's words were the situation not so serious. _Of course we know there's a fire. What kind of firemen does he think we are?_ Roy simply calmed him, "Alright, alright, just relax…"

He heard the dispatcher call the other companies to their location to assist with the potentially explosive brush fire not far behind him. Roy just hoped Chet and Marco would knock down the flames quickly. Cap was having intermittent spasms from the electricity still in his body, his muscles contracting violently and relaxing suddenly. Beside them, Johnny and the caller were tending to the patient with the broken femur. Marco brought the datascope as Roy finished undoing the buttons on Cap's uniform shirt and pulled up his t-shirt to access his chest.

"Somebody gettin' this fire? Roy?"

Roy didn't answer, focusing on what the scope was telling him. Looking up briefly, he saw Mike sprinting from their position back to the engine to check the pumps. Marco had followed him, grabbing another line and going to help Chet knock the fires down.

"How's the fire?"

"We're takin' care of it."

Cap nearly smiled, but another set of muscle contractions hit, making him curl in on himself, obviously in pain. Roy soothed him, "Alright, alright… it's okay," while carefully taking the older man's blood pressure. Around them was organized chaos, with Johnny and the caller splinting the patient's leg and Marco and Chet working to knock down the flames and Mike running to and fro, trying to keep an eye on the scene and the pumps. Cap was breathing heavily, his belly rising and falling quickly with each breath, and Roy reached out to monitor his respirations, telling him, "Try not to move around."

Of course, it was then that Cap was wracked with another convulsion. Roy's stomach flopped uncomfortably. He'd heard horror stories of people being more injured during the convulsions than due to the shock itself, their muscles being torn or joints getting dislocated. Some victims would have seizures due to the interrupted electrical activity in the brain. Thankfully, Cap was not yet exhibiting any of those symptoms.

"Rampart, this is Squad 51."

" _Go ahead, 51_ ," Early said.

"Rampart, we have another victim here, electrocution victim, male, about thirty-seven years of age," Roy reported as Cap convulsed once more, "BP is 100/80, pulse is 150, respirations are 40. Stand by for EKG."

" _Administer D5W TKO_."

"D5W TKO."

Somewhere behind him, Marco and Chet had gotten the fire knocked down, and Roy breathed a sigh of relief. _One less thing to worry about, at least…_

xXxXx

Mike watched as Marco and Chet knocked down the last of the flames, now only had to worry about smoking brush, sighed softly.

"LA, Engine 51," he reported, "Brush fire is under control. Cancel all units. Send in one camp crew for cold trailing."

" _10-4, 51,_ " Sam responded.

The ambulance finally arrived, and Mike waited for it to pass before climbing down from the engine and heading for his captain. The man looked miserable, hand on his face, his chest almost heaving. He came over and knelt beside him, asking quietly, "You okay?"

"How you doin', babe?" Cap responded, "You get the fire knocked out?"

"Yeah, Cap…"

Unable to stop himself, Mike reached out and adjusted the collar of Cap's turnout. It was small, as far as gestures of comfort went, but he didn't want to interfere with Roy's treatment. _He'll know. He'll understand._ He helped Roy and Johnny load Cap into the ambulance.

"I'm gonna ride in," Johnny said, "I wanna keep an eye on the broken femur."

Roy nodded, headed for the squad. Mike, Marco, and Chet watched them go, the wreckage behind them, smoke and ozone still hanging in the air. Mike could feel a slight tightness in his chest, the nervousness that always accompanied such an event. Instinctively, he knew Roy and Johnny and everyone at Rampart would take the best care of Cap, but sometimes that wasn't enough. _Stop that. You're gonna get yourself all worked up._ Cap was going to be fine. Electrical incidents were generally like that. If the victim survived without cardiac arrest, they were going to be fine.

"Mike, you okay, man?"

Chet was looking up at him, concern and worry apparent in his face. Mike blinked, came to his senses, looked around the scene. Marco was up past the engine, likely waiting to flag down Crew 31 when they arrived. The question was repeated, "You okay, Mike?"

"Umm… yeah. Yeah. I'm fine, just-… A lot happened."

"That it did," Chet agreed, paused, continued, "Hey, y'know, you did a great job, Mike."

"What?"

"Takin' over the scene. You didn't even waste a second. You were right in there, pullin' Cap out and then you got that fire taken care of-"

"Chet, that was you and Marco-"

"You coordinated the effort, so it's like you did it. Just accept the praise, okay? Really, man, it was kinda like a glimpse into the future… Captain Mike Stoker," he gestured dramatically to make his point, "That's got a nice ring to it."

"Oh, shut up, Chet…"

The lineman fell quiet but continued to smirk. Mike watched Marco, lost in thought. _Captain…_ Even a couple years ago, Cap had asked him about becoming a captain. He'd thought about it, certainly. He'd been in the department too long not to have thought about taking the exam, but for now, Mike was perfectly happy where he was. He liked being an engineer, liked Station 51, liked the men he worked with. The exam wasn't necessarily easy, but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. _I've been an engineer for over ten years now… got promoted in '63._ After a man spent that amount of time as an engineer, the brass began wondering why he didn't want to be a captain. The tight feeling in his chest did not go away.

Crew 31 arrived and ushered them away, clearly knowing how bad they wanted to check on their captain. The cab felt very big without its usual passenger. Out of respect, neither Marco nor Chet took up the passenger seat, climbed up to sit in their usual seats behind the cab. Roy and Johnny were waiting for them when they arrived at Rampart.

"He's gonna be fine," Roy said without preamble, "Doc wants to keep him for twenty-four hours just to keep an eye on him, then he should be back in a couple days. There's little intermittent issues that usually crop up within twenty-four hours, but they're not permanent. We already called Ginny. Said she'd be here soon as she could get the girls. Guess they're all at sports or band or whatever."

Mike hummed in agreement, looking at the treatment room door, and said, "Oh, I gotta call the chief and let him know what happened. We're gonna be stood down 'til we get another captain in."

"Y'all will," Johnny told him, "Me an' Roy sure won't."

"Ain't that the truth," Roy muttered.

xXxXx

"Hey, Mike, could I speak with you for a moment?" Hank called.

He was finally back to work after being nearly electrocuted almost a week ago. He'd been very lucky with his recuperation coincided with the shift's four days off and he'd only missed a shift and a half. Hank hated being kept away, hated not being allowed to work. Everyone had come by to check on him and see how he was doing and make sure Ginny and the girls didn't need anything. _I really hafta have the best crew in the department._

Mike stepped into the office, looking confused and maybe a little afraid.

"Close the door, pal?"

The fear seemed to ratchet up as Mike obliged, sitting only once he was asked.

"Jesus, Mike, calm down. You look like I'm about to send you to hang or somethin'."

"Sorry, Cap. I just-… I guess I'm still a 'lil shook up from last week."

"That's understandable, I suppose. I think we're all a bit wary," Hank agreed.

Being electrocuted was certainly a new experience. The aftereffects lasted a few days, and included minor chest pain, confusion, insomnia, irritability, and fatigue. He wasn't able to work with all that going on, but he felt much better now. In terms of electrical incidents, he really hadn't gotten a terribly bad shock. It had caused the convulsions and myoclonic jerk, but he'd at least remained conscious and didn't go into cardiac arrest.

"Anyway," Hank said after a moment, "It's last week I wanted to talk to you about."

Mike straightened in the chair, asking, "Was there a problem? I thought I did everythi-"

"You did just fine, Mike," Hank interrupted, "You did excellent, as a matter of fact. Everyone said so. Didn't wanna talk about anything else when they'd visit."

"What do you mean?"

"Marco and Chet told me how quick you took command of the scene. Said you helped Roy pull me clear and then called for backup, got them coordinated to knock down that fire."

"You were very concerned about that fire," Mike noted.

"That's what I've heard. I've also heard the fellas think very highly of you, think you did a good job in command of a scene. They all wanna give you a commendation."

Mike's face immediately turned bright red, his eyes firmly set on his lap. _So humble… and when he has no reason to be._ Mike Stoker was arguably one of the best firemen Hank had ever worked with, if not the best. He was intelligent, calm under fire, had common sense, a logical mind, a kind heart. He was one of the best men Hank had ever worked with in terms of personality alone. Giving him the praise he deserved felt good.

"I'm inclined to agree with them. Any engineer who takes over a scene when his captain goes down deserves commendation."

"No, Cap. I don't. I mean- Tha-That's part of my job. It's what I'm supposed to do."

"That doesn't make it easy," Hank continued, "When a captain goes down, there's a lot going on, a lot of adrenaline, a lot of anxiety and nervousness and fear. It's not easy to keep going, let alone take command in a situation where you're afraid and worried. Believe me, I know. You kept a potentially extremely volatile situation from getting worse. We coulda ended up with a major brush fire on our hands, but you took over and go it knocked down-"

"No, that was all Marco and Chet-"

"Mike, stop. Take the credit. You deserve it. At the very least, I'm gonna put a great note in your file. I'm absolutely gonna look into getting you a commendation."

Mike refused to look up, mumbled something that may have been 'Thank you,' fidgeted with his hands in his lap. Hank took a moment to look at the man in front of him, to appreciate him. This man was one of the finest engineers in the department, one of the best in terms of knowledge and temperament and skill, and Hank honestly felt blessed to work with him every shift. This was a man who passed his engineer's exam with flying colors on his first try with the highest score of anyone. Hank thought he remembered hearing about it when it happened, was a new engineer himself, and some of the guys were mad some hotshot kid only three years in the department, only twenty-three years old, scored higher than everyone. He only remembered being impressed. He might tell Mike that one day.

"You've been an engineer for over… ten years now, isn't that right?"

"Yup. I was promoted in '63. Been livin' the dream ever since."

"I know the feeling," Hank agreed, "Hey, we spoke a few years ago about you movin' up to captain. You weren't ready then, liked where you were at, and that's fine. I understand that. Now, though… after this… I think you oughta reconsider."

"I dunno, Cap, I mean-… I always wanted to be an engineer. I like this job, this position, this station. I'm not sure I'm ready to give all this up."

"Is it that you think you can't do it? That you're not ready?"

"No, it's not that. I know I can do the job. I can handle the responsibility. It's just-… I just like it here. I like working with you and the guys. I like working with Marco."

Hank hummed quietly in agreement. _I hadn't thought of that._ He couldn't imagine working with someone he loved that much, couldn't imagine if his wife worked on the shift with him. He supposed he wouldn't want to be separated from her, either. The time would come, though. One or the other would get promoted or transferred. It happened all the time in the department. He didn't say any of that, however, only looked at his engineer, decided now was not the time.

"Just think about it, pal," Hank told him, "I think a station would be very lucky to have you as their captain… and it's only a matter of time before the brass starts askin' around for you take the promotion."

"Thanks, Cap. I'll think about it."

He watched Mike go, wondering how he got lucky enough to be captain to this group of guys. They were irritating sometimes, occasionally a group of twits, but overall he couldn't ask for a better shift of firemen. _I got so lucky._ Hank chuckled quietly to himself. Who would've thought he'd consider a gay man one of the best firemen he'd ever known? _Life is funny sometimes._

Hank shook his head and left his office to join his men in the day room.


	27. Never a Dull Moment

**_Warnings: language, alcoholic behavior, misuse of alcohol_**

 _ **Also, I apologize for being a day late. I had a very busy week last week and didn't have time to get it all typed up before last night, and I at least wanted to be able to make some edits before putting it up for you. I anticipate being on time next week. Please see the end of the chapter for a note to the Stoker anons.**_

* * *

 _Some days really make a guy question his career… especially when half of it revolves around rescuing idiots._ Chet sighed, watching the world pass by from the back of the engine. Only five years ago, Congress passed a law declaring Memorial Day would now be observed on the last Monday in May, regardless of date, as opposed to the hard and fast May 30 it had been since at least the 1880s. It provided for a three-day weekend and a federal holiday, and with this year being the United States' Bicentennial, Chet figured there were going to be some rough holidays. _Fourth of July won't be a picnic, either…_ He sighed again.

They pulled up to the park behind the squad. The paramedics were there to handle injuries from a fight that had occurred. The engine was there to back them up and put out the burning barbeque. Thankfully, no one was severely injured enough for a trip to Rampart, but one guy was drunk enough.

"Do I-? Will ya gimme another blanket, fellas?"

"We'll see," Johnny told him, "We only have so many, and it's pretty hot out-"

"Okay… okay, tha's cool, man… Say, I really gotta pee. Can I pee?"

"Not yet. Wait 'til we get to Rampart."

"That long? Man, I really gotta pee."

"Well, ya gotta hold it. We're gonna put ya in the ambulance-"

"Can I pee in the ambulance?"

Chet stifled a snort of laughter. Johnny quickly said, "No. You cannot pee in the ambulance. You wanted blankets? I'll give you as many blankets as you want so long as you don't pee in the ambulance, 'kay?"

"Okie dokie, soun-sounds great to me. Can we play the sirens?"

They loaded him up, and Chet assumed should the drunk pee in the ambulance, he would hear all about it when he saw Johnny again. Rampart was probably a drunk tank for the wounded at this point. Marco came over to stand by him as Roy pulled away in the squad, asked, "Havin' fun yet?"

"If you call this fun, then I guess so," Chet replied, "Man, I am sure glad I don't drink like that anymore… well, not often. I have my weak moments, but overall… Hey, I never do it if I have work the next day."

"You have that much sense, anyway."

Chet shrugged, "What can I say? I'm not a total fuckup," and the two got into their places on the engine, ready to return to the station. Then they got a call for a single car wreck in a residential neighborhood, the squad reporting from Rampart. _Probably a drunk driver. This should be fun._ Mike took them to the scene of the accident. The two-door Charger had its front end wrapped around a telephone pole, the driver slumped over the steering wheel. Chet heaved a sigh. He hated drunk drivers.

He'd been to rock bottom, spent an entire six months in a whiskey-induced stupor, but he never drove drunk. He'd seen too much bad happen, too much tragedy. When somebody died as a result of an accident with a drunk driver, it was never the drunk driver, was always some innocent bystander. Thankfully, today only the one who caused the accident was injured.

"Chet, come over here and help me get 'im outta here, would ya?" Johnny called, "Uh… I'm gonna need a C-collar and a splint for his leg."

"You got it, Gage."

He retrieved the items Johnny requested and hurried over. Johnny carefully placed the collar around the patient's neck, said, "Alright, Chet… help me get 'im out… Yeah, just like that… careful with that leg, okay? That's it… Alright… Perfect…"

The victim's leg was definitely broken, the bone obviously sticking out from his shin. He was mumbling incoherently, his arms flailing slightly as he tried to move. Johnny told him to stay still while he took his vitals, and Roy relayed everything on the biophone. Chet made his way over to Marco and Mike, who were standing by as Cap spoke with the caller, an older woman who'd been sitting on her porch.

"… and I couldn't believe it," she was saying, "Now, you know the speed limit on this road is 25, and that car there had to be going at least 60. He fishtailed going around the corner there and lost control, and that's when he plowed into that pole. It was an awful sound."

"Thank you, ma'am," Cap said, "We'll be sure to pass the informa-"

"Sir!"

Everyone turned to the paramedics. The patient, who had been largely unresponsive until this point, had apparently started to try and get up.

"Sir, please, lay back down," Roy told him firmly, "Your leg is broken and-"

"Nononono, 's fine!" the patient protested, "Leg's fine! I jus' gotta walk it off."

"The bone is sticking through your shin," Johnny replied, "You can't walk that off. Sir, lie back down and stay still while we wait for the ambulance. Please…"

Chet snorted quietly. _Some people…_ It wasn't the first time a drunk patient couldn't feel their pain, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Cap called for him, and Chet jogged over to meet him.

xXxXx

"Christ… a frat house?" Johnny exclaimed, "Really? I hate frat houses."

"Shouldn't all the colleges be out by now?" Roy asked in the squad.

"You'd think… Reckon they must be stayin' for the summer. Kids do that, right?"

Roy shrugged, kept driving to the frat house, sirens wailing. Johnny huffed quietly, as he was wont to do when being somewhat ignored. Unknown type injuries in a frat house were usually embarrassing and involved foreign objects in various orifices or body parts inserted into foreign objects. Alcohol was also typical. They were greeted at the door by a young black man, tall and stocky with an afro.

"What seems to be the problem?" Roy asked.

"It's Carl," the young man said, "He's really messed up, man, c'mon…"

He led them in and up to a bedroom, where a white male was laying on his side on the floor by the bed.

"What happened to him?" Johnny asked while Roy checked the boy's vitals.

"We were poundin' back some beers earlier, and one of the guys came up with an idea. He got some flexible tubing and a funnel, hooked 'em up, and figured out we could drink the beers really fast. We did that for a bit, and then Carl got it in his head to funnel the beer-… well… He kinda put the tube in his ass."

Johnny forced himself not to roll his eyes. _Again with the stuff up the ass! Why!_ He instead asked, "And why on earth did he decide to do that?"

The young man shrugged, "He was wasted. Thought it'd be funny, I guess."

Johnny just shook his head and got on the biophone, "Rampart, this is Squad 51."

" _Squad 51, go ahead._ "

"Rampart, we have a male patient, approximately twenty-one years of age. He, uh… He apparently ingested a great deal of alcohol orally and then consumed several beers via an enema."

There was a definite pause.

" _Squad 51… did you say enema?_ "

"Correct, Rampart. Patient is currently unconscious and nonresponsive. Stand by for vital signs."

Johnny turned to Roy, watching the other paramedic, waiting for the vitals.

"Pulse is 40… Respirations 6… uh, skin is clammy and pale. Stand by for BP."

He relayed the information, adding, "BP is 65/40."

" _Administer IV with saline and 50 ml of 50% dextrose solution, put him on O2, and transport immediately._ "

"10-4, Rampart. Ambulance should be here in a few minutes."

" _10-4, 51._ "

"Hey, man, is Carl gonna be okay? Like, he's not gonna die, right?"

"We're gonna do our best to make sure he doesn't. We're gonna take him to Rampart General, and he'll get the best care he possibly could there. Do you have any contact information for his family?"

"Johnny, the ambulance is here. I'll ride in with him."

"I'll help you load 'im up."

The frat boy returned with a slip of paper with the parents' contact information; Carl was from Wyoming. Johnny quickly got into the squad and followed the ambulance to Rampart. _Kids today are so stupid. Who the fuck gets it into their head to load their ass with beer? What happened to good ol' drinkin' beer?_ The way these college kids were beginning to drink to excess was insane. Johnny knew too many whose lives had been destroyed because of alcohol. It was an epidemic on many reservations across the country simply because there was nothing else to do. Jobs weren't plentiful, but the alcohol was. He sighed.

Johnny replenished their supplies while waiting for Roy, picking out what they needed.

"Hey, Junior…"

Roy made his over with the rest of their equipment, his expression tired but not sad, and answered Johnny's silent question, "Kid's gonna be fine. Doubt he'll ever try that again, though. Morton said his BAC was .375."

".375? Jesus… that's almost five times the legal limit."

"I know. He's in a coma now, but Morton says he should wake up in a few hours."

"Kid's gonna have the world's worst hangover when he does wake up. Here, I think I got everything…"

They briefly went over the contents of their various boxes, putting everything in its proper place. On the way out, they ran into Bellingham, Brice's partner.

"Oh, hey, fellas."

"Hey, Bob," Roy replied, "What's up?"

Bellingham shrugged, "The usual, I guess. Been on four runs, all alcohol related. 'Bout par for the course for holidays like this. Brice rode in with our patient. What about you guys?"

"Kid made this big funnel and ingested like four beers via enema," Johnny said.

"Really? Christ, people are obsessed with their asses anymore."

"Tell me about it. Anyway, we gotta head out, man."

"Yeah, give Brice our best," Roy added.

Bellingham gave them a smirk and a wave, heading toward the bay station for his own supplies. Johnny stayed fairly quiet in the squad, but if Roy noticed, he said nothing. Johnny was actually grateful for it. He didn't know what he would say if Roy asked him anything.

Chet was making dinner when they arrived, his chili, the only thing he was really any good at making. Johnny sauntered up and leaned against the counter beside him, watched him work.

"Hey, Gagey-baby, you just gonna sit there and look pretty, or do you wanna make yourself useful in some way?"

"I was stayin' outta your way. Isn't that useful enough?"

"True. You're not exactly a world-class cook yourself. Somethin' on your mind?"

"That obvious?"

"You're an open book, Johnny. C'mon, spill it…"

Johnny repeated the events of their runs that day, especially the last one, to Chet, who listened carefully, nodding when appropriate.

"I just don't get it, Chet," he continued, "I mean, these kids have all the opportunity in the world. They got parents who love 'em, who have money enough to send 'em to college, to give 'em an education… and they're practically throwin' it all away on drugs and alcohol. I just don't get it."

Chet shrugged, "There's plenty of poor kids who throw it all away, too."

"I know, I know… Just-… There's poor kids who don't throw away their opportunities but still don't get half what these kids get even when they try their hardest."

"No, I know what you're gettin' at. I guess… I dunno, I guess it's just a pastime, somethin' fun to do when there's no pressure on 'em. Poor kids do that stuff to escape. Reckon rich kids do, too."

Johnny made a soft noise of agreement but said nothing else. One of his younger cousins succumbed to alcoholism and almost died before pulling his life back together. It had been a long and messy road, but Josh was doing much better now. Johnny regretted he hadn't been there for much of it, but he was there through the worst of it. He looked to the fireman beside him. _I did tell him about Josh._ He hadn't known very much about Chet's past, but he somehow knew Chet could be trusted to understand that. It turned out Chet knew plenty about alcohol abuse. Johnny stepped a little closer to Chet, saw him smile gently.

"Hey, man, cheer up," Chet told him finally, "You're gonna get me down, too. That kid you rescued, he'll shape up. He'll figure out he's an idiot and turn himself around. Usually do."

"If he doesn't?"

"Then he doesn't. We know better than anyone that you can't save everyone. Some people don't change, and that's just the way it is. Ours is not to question why… Anyway, c'mere and help…"

Johnny huffed quietly, a laugh, and stepped up to help as he was asked.

"Now, Johnny, just do what I tell ya and try not to fuck it up, okay?"

"I'll try not to."

Chet nudged him with his elbow, smiling, encouraging Johnny to smile in return.

xXxXx

Marco smiled, quietly snuck away from the kitchen, went back to Mike and Roy in the bay.

"He's fine, Roy," Marco told him, "Him and Chet are havin' a good ol' time."

"That's good. He was just awful quiet after that last run. It's never good when he's quiet."

"Don't we know it. Well, he's not quiet now, so I think we're all safe."

Mike spoke up, "Don't be so sure. He's helpin' Chet cook."

Marco and Roy hummed in agreement. _He'll be alright._ There were some runs that just got to a guy. It was occasionally inexplicable, sometimes made no sense. A fireman could go on a hundred similar runs with only one soliciting such a reaction. They'd all been there before, all knew the feeling. Johnny would be just fine in no time at all. He was just one of those people that bounced back in a hurry.

The paramedics were called out again not ten minutes later for a heart trouble case, and Chet had just finished his chili when the engine was called to an unauthorized bonfire. _Time to be the fun police._ At the scene, they found a group of kids, drinking beer and playing records, along with a patrol car.

"Alright, kids," the cop said, "Fun's over. Fire department's here. Everyone clear out."

There was a lot of grumbling, but no one really protested. The sun was just getting ready to set. Marco and Chet easily put out the bonfire and cleaned up the debris, making sure there were no embers remaining. The way a few of the kids looked at them, though, made Marco's stomach twist slightly. _I get the feeling we'll be back here later. They're not happy we broke up their party._ He and Chet climbed back up into the engine so Mike could take them back to the station.

Roy and Johnny were waiting on them, having started in on the chili.

"Sorry, we didn't wait," Roy said, "Just never know when the next run is comin'."

"I understand completely," Cap agreed, "C'mon, fellas…"

The paramedics, sure enough, were called out not long after, when they were not quite done with their dinner, and they quickly left for the seizure call.

"You okay, Marco?" Mike asked as they washed the dishes, "You seem a little down."

"Do I? I dunno… I just have a-a feeling… kinda a bad feeling."

Mike's blue eyes were concerned, clearly remembering the last time Marco had a bad feeling about a shift. Marco sighed, explained, "It's not a bad feeling like that, _querido_. It's not dread. It's-… I dunno… It's just I know we're gonna go out on a run and it's gonna be a mess. Maybe it won't be bad for us, I mean, I don't think it will, just… it's gonna be a mess, y'know?"

Mike hummed in agreement. Marco took a deep breath and continued to wash the dishes. There was no use worrying about what might or might not happen. _I've learned that._ It was hard to believe that it was almost two years ago now that Marco was severely injured and came quite close to dying. Two whole years since he and Mike fought, since all that bad happened, and Marco told himself after everything that he had to live life to the fullest, to not worry what the next shift would bring. Mike likely did not feel the same way, worrier as he was, but Marco felt good about it. Still, old habits died hard, and there were times when that niggling feeling came back that maybe he ought to worry just a little.

" _Station 51, Squad 43, unauthorized bonfire and report of a fight…_ "

Chet asked, "That's the same place we put out a bonfire earlier, isn't it?"

"Sure is," Mike told him, turned to Marco, said, "You were right, babe."

Marco didn't reply, only pulled on his turnout and climbed into his seat beside Chet. _Of course I was right. My gut always is._

"Holy shit…"

He looked up at Chet's words, felt his mouth fall open slightly. Chaos was the only word that could accurately describe the scene. Police were corralling drunk teens, many of whom were screaming about their rights and police brutality and all the other things drunk teens scream about when being arrested. Several were being tended by paramedics, including a particularly rowdy boy Johnny was having trouble calming down. Mike pulled the engine up to the hydrant, and Marco dutifully jumped off to hook up the line. The bonfire was hardly their biggest problem, however. Marco was easily able to put it out on his own, which was good since Cap had called on Chet to help Johnny with his patient.

"Jesus, this is a mess, Marco," Mike commented.

"It's somethin' else, alright…"

They were cleaning up the bonfire when Johnny swore loudly, causing both men to look. The paramedic was curled up on the ground, clutching his midsection. Chet had the patient restrained with his arms pinned behind his back. Marco and Mike hurried over, Marco to help restrain the patient, Mike to check on Johnny.

"Hey," Mike asked, "Hey, Johnny? You okay? What happened?"

Johnny shook his head briefly, wheezing quietly. Chet spoke up, "Got nailed in the gut by this genius."

"He was hurtin' me, man!"

"Only 'cause you were bein' an idiot and not listenin' to him!"

A cop came over and took the young man away while Cap called for help for one of the guys from Squad 43, who was trying to restrain a rowdy girl. Marco took off. Fitzpatrick was struggling with a young woman who was obviously on something more potent than alcohol, evidenced by the way she was screaming and cursing at a rapid pace, a cut in her hairline still bleeding sluggishly.

"Lopez, I just need someone to hold her so I can clean and bandage the cut," Fitzpatrick shouted over her, "Try to keep her still, would ya? Christ, she's feisty…"

Marco carefully held her arms behind her back, not wanting to injure her but not wanting to get hit or kicked like Johnny had. She screamed like she was being murdered the entire time.

"My ears are gonna be ringin' for days," he complained to Mike, "She was so damn loud…"

"I'll bet. I've never heard anyone scream like that in my life."

"Try havin' it right in your ear for five minutes. _Ay Dios_..."

Mike chuckled, and Marco stuck out his tongue at his lover. _I'll just have him make it up to me later…_

xXxXx

The men at 51s woke barely refreshed on Sunday morning, none of them having really slept due to the quantity of runs. Mike, for whatever reason, hadn't been able to sleep very well even when he could, kept waking up and tossing and turning. _I'm surprised I didn't wake everyone up._ He slumped into the kitchen, yawning widely, running a hand through his hair.

" _Mi querido_ , you look exhausted," Marco commented, "You didn't sleep?"

"Not really, no… not sure why… just couldn't get comfortable, I guess…"

"Well, you've got all day to sleep and rest up before the big day tomorrow."

Mike groaned quietly. Tomorrow was Memorial Day, and amid the somber ceremony and remembrance would be raucous drinking and rowdy behavior. _Fuck, we'll be running all day and all night._ Thankfully, the next shift was right on time, and Marco wisely offered to drive home when they left.

"You look ready to sleep standing up, _corazón_ ," Marco whispered.

Mike blinked, not entirely sure he remembered the ride home or the walk up to their apartment. His brain felt all fuzzy, his eyelids as heavy as his limbs. A warm hand rested on his cheek. He smiled, leaned into the touch, swayed slightly where he stood. Marco laughed softly, told him, "C'mon, _querido_ , let's get you to bed before you fall over right here."

"Mhmm, whatever you say, babe…"

Marco led Mike to their bed where he carefully undressed him, stripping him down to his shorts, occasionally pressing a kiss to newly bared flesh. It felt nice, very nice indeed to be shown such care and love. He knew, deeply and innately and intimately, that he was loved. Warmth rolled over him in waves, though he couldn't be exactly sure if it was due to joy or exhaustion.

"Stay with me, baby," Mike murmured.

"You want me to stay?"

"Yeah… I wanna go to sleep with you right here next to me… just wanna feel you… smell you… touch you… maybe kiss you a little… Please, babe, just stay…"

Marco's expression was soft and warm and open, and he quickly gave in, stripping down to his own shorts and climbing into bed beside him. Strong arms wrapped around him. Warm lips pressed against his throat. He turned to capture those lips, smiling into the kiss, bringing a hand up to gently touch Marco's face. The kiss was soft and slow, a gentle display of the love between them.

"I love you so much," Mike whispered, stroking Marco's cheek, "I love you-"

He kissed Marco again, gently sucking his lower lip between his teeth. Marco smiled against his lips, pulled away slightly, told Mike softly, "I know. I love you, too… I thought you were tired, _corazón_."

"I am. I just wanted to do that first… wanted to show you I love you…"

"You do that every day. Every day you show me how much you love me. I mean, this is nice, don't get me wrong, but I want you to sleep now, Mike. You need it."

Mike smiled sleepily up at Marco, his beautiful love, kissed him once more, and was asleep not a few minutes later.

* * *

 ** _As always, if anything is wrong, shoot me a message telling me how to fix it, and I will do so as soon as possible. I'm not a paramedic or medical professional, but I try to research as best I can._**

 ** _To the anons who commented on the last chapter: Stoker (the actor) was born in June '41, so at the time of that chapter, he would have been 34. I generally go with the actor's ages when thinking of the characters, only making a slight change to Chet's for story purposes. Therefore, assuming Mike went into the department right at 18, my calculations were correct. I understand that many did do some military service during the Cold War, but that was by no means everyone. I do appreciate your concerns and hope this answers some of your questions. Thank you for continuing to read this fic._**


	28. The Sharp Knife of a Short Life

_**Warnings: mild language, blood, major trigger warning for childhood suicide.**_

* * *

Mike woke up slowly, blinking in the sunlight filtering through the blinds as Marco fumbled to shut off their alarm. A moment passed before both groaned. _It's the Bicentennial… shit…_ Mike grumbled as he sat up and scrubbed at his face. Marco simply rolled over, pressing his face into the pillow. The cats meowed outside the door, gently scratching at the frame.

Today was July 4, 1976, America's Bicentennial… or at least the bicentennial of the Declaration of Independence. Celebrations had been going on across the nation since last year, marking notable events like Lexington and Concord, Paul Revere's ride, and the meeting of the Continental Congress. There had been TV specials and books and red-white-and-blue themed everything, but today was the culmination of all this celebration. July Fourth was always a big day for the fire and police departments, saw much of the population drinking and setting off fireworks and having illegal bonfires and getting into fights.

Obviously impatient, Rosa and Tito made their way into the bedroom, meowing loudly. Marco said something too muffled to be intelligible.

"Hey, babe, ya better get your face outta that pillow before ya suffocate," Mike told him teasingly, swatting him on the ass for emphasis, "That wouldn't be an attractive way to die."

"Guess that's true," Marco agreed, finally rolling over on his back to look up at Mike, " _Ay Dios_ , we're gonna be so busy today… It's gonna be horrible."

"I know, and I can't say I'm lookin' forward to it, but at least we're spending it together."

His words earned a sleepy smile from Marco. He leaned down to kiss him, but Rosa chose that moment to let out a particularly indignant meow, demanding breakfast for her and her brother. The two firemen laughed quietly. Mike said, "I'll go feed the monsters. Be right back," and gave him a quick kiss before getting to his feet. Tito trilled happily, both cats trotting ahead to meet him in the kitchen.

He stood and watched them eat for a moment, smiling to himself. Soft footsteps sounded behind him, arms wrapping around his waist, warm lips pressing to his shoulder. Mike hummed low in his throat and leaned back into the touch. These were the moments he liked best, the quiet, domestic ones where they could simply bask in each other's warmth and love. He sighed contentedly. Peace like this wasn't going to be available in the upcoming twenty-four hours.

xXxXx

These were the moments Roy hated. Holidays were always a mixed bag of runs. Some were basic where others were outrageous, and for whatever reason, Squad 51 had gotten outrageous for their first few runs. It was midday now, and Roy and Johnny were on their way to a call for an unconscious child. Runs involving children always got Roy's blood pressure up, his own two kids always coming to the forefront of his mind. _It's like I'm treating Chris or Jenny and not someone else's child._ He gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter. Johnny shifted on the bench seat beside him.

It was a nice neighborhood they'd been called to, with large houses and manicured lawns.

"Roy… it's up here on the left… yeah, that's 1847 there," Johnny pointed.

A man was standing on the porch as Roy pulled into their driveway. He didn't come running, like so many parents did when their child was hurt. _He looks numb. What the hell happened here?_

"Sir…" Roy asked, "Sir, are you the one who called us? Can you tell us what happened?"

The man blinked slowly, took an agonizing moment to simply stare at them, finally ushered them in wordlessly. They pushed past him roughly. A girl of about eight lay on the couch, very pale, a young woman crying silently on the floor beside her. She looked up at the two paramedics, begged, "Please save her."

Johnny got right in there, instinctively knowing how bothered Roy was by the whole scene. Roy carefully pulled the woman to her feet and led her away, saying gently but firmly, "Ma'am, you need to tell me what happened here."

"She did it. She really did it."

"She-? What?"

She wiped at her face, took a deep breath, explained in a shaky voice, "That's my daughter, Billie. She, umm… She took my antidepressants."

"What are you on?"

"Amitriptyline. I went into a major depression when my first husband, Billie's father, died in a car accident about four years ago. Billie was very upset by it. They were very close. Mark was a very good friend of ours, and he helped us through everything. Billie likes him, which was the most important thing. We got married last year, and it all started to feel alright again when…"

"Roy, I've got some very depressed vital signs… slow heart, low BP, the works."

"Mother says she overdosed on Amitriptyline. I'll call it in…"

Johnny's questioning stare said it all.

"Ma'am, the ambulance is almost here," Roy told her after they had treatment started, "Can you tell me what happened today?"

"A few months ago, Mark's brother committed suicide," the woman explained, "Hanged himself in his apartment… wasn't found for a few days. That's when Billie started acting strangely. She became very preoccupied with death, very interested in death. She kept asking us what happens when a person dies, what happens to the body, everything. She claimed Uncle Matt came to talk to her after he died and tol-told her how nice it was in Heaven an-… and then she started saying she wanted to go with him… with her daddy…"

Roy's stomach rolled, but he forced himself not to show it. She continued as the ambulance sirens neared, "We didn't believe her. Who believes an eight-year-old wants to kill herself? Who really believes a child is capable of that?"

He hated the dead, frightened look in this woman's eyes, hated that there was nothing he could do to alleviate her suffering. The ambulance arrived, and Roy helped Johnny load up the patient, her body so small on the full size gurney. Roy's stomach rolled again.

"Boy, that was-…" Johnny started, looked at Roy back in the squad, said, "well… that was somethin'…"

Roy didn't know what to say, so he said nothing; neither did Johnny. There was nothing to say. Roy carefully pushed it all down, knowing their day was going to be busy. He took a deep breath and put his hands on the steering wheel, Johnny on the bench seat beside him.

xXxXx

Holidays had never been Brice's favorite. He didn't really like crowds or unfamiliar people as a child, and he was fairly certain his parents were vaguely ashamed of him, their strange boy who refused to make eye contact or carry on a normal conversation. _If only they could see me now._ Brice sighed, looking at the surrounding crowd. He didn't always like parades, and it was still mostly true. He couldn't find enjoyment from floats or marching bands or seeing the fire apparatus he looked at all the time. People stood about cheering and screaming for no real reason, letting their children eat candy thrown by strangers, maybe a quarter of them already drunk at midday.

Bellingham was grinning beside him. He obviously enjoyed this spectacle, but that was Bellingham. People liked him because he reminded them of just a regular person. Brice was a bit aloof and hard to understand sometimes, couldn't really relate to people, but Bellingham could. He made people feel calm and at ease, used words they could understand. Messy and unorthodox he may be, but no one could deny he was also patient and kind and hardworking… and smart. First glances didn't often instill confidence in his mental powers, but Bellingham had passed the paramedic program as well as anyone and knew what he was doing. Brice sighed again.

The day was hot and bright. Brice could feel the sweat rolling down his face and chest and back, could feel it pooling, wrinkled his nose slightly. Keeping a clean uniform in this kind of heat was more of a chore than usual with all the sweating they did. _I heard Cheche got badly sunburned the other day on a call, was as red as his squad._ Brice and Bellingham were standing in the shade at least, but it was so hot that it almost didn't matter. With the temperature being so high, it was really only a matter of time before tempers flared, too.

Squad 16 was called to an unknown incident at a bar called The Emerald Café, which turned out to be a dump of a hole-in-the-wall. Bellingham said, "Probably a fight. Two drunks got into it and bashed each other's heads in. Happens all the time there."

"And how do you know that?"

"Because I been runnin' rescues there longer'n you been in the department, that's how."

Brice pursed his lips but said nothing else. The paramedic program had only been around since 1969, but many of the paramedics had been firemen long before that, including Bellingham.

" _Squad 51, respond with Squad 16. Report of a fight, Emerald Café…_ "

"That does not sound like two drunks simply bashing each other's heads in," Brice commented.

His partner simply shrugged, directing Brice to make a turn. Four squad cars sat outside, lights and sirens blazing. Several bloody patrons were cuffed with zipties and sat on the concrete in front of the bar. Brice could feel the adrenaline starting to pump through his system.

"Hey!" a police officer called from the door, "We need you fellas inside quick! This guy's bleedin' out!"

"Brice, you go," Bellingham told him, "I got the equipment."

The officer beckoned him once more. Brice jogged over and went in behind the officer. The bar reeked of body odor, alcohol, and blood, the stench almost making him stop in his tracks.

"Over here!"

An officer was on the floor by a supine man, holding his thigh, blood spilling through his fingers and onto the floor. Brice immediately ran over and took his place, putting pressure on the artery just above the wound. Hot blood covered his hands and soaked into the knees of his pants. His stomach barely rolled. Bellingham wasn't far behind him, carrying all the equipment they'd need.

"What've we got, kid?" he asked.

"A deep laceration to the inner thigh, likely severing the femoral artery. I need a pressure bandage and a tourniquet," Brice told him, asked the officer, "What happened to him?"

"A big fight broke out in here for one reason or another, and this guy got caught up in it. Someone broke a bottle and cut him. He was so drunk he didn't even realize it until he hit the floor."

Brice pursed his lips and continued to work on the patient's leg while Bellingham called Rampart. The sirens of Squad 51 sounded outside.

"Brice, IV D5W and transport," Bellingham stated.

"You start it. I want to keep an eye on this tourniquet to make sure it won't be too tight. Over here… no, the other arm…"

 _If the tourniquet is too tight, he loses his leg. If it's too loose, he'll continue to bleed out and die._ Brice reached to adjust the tourniquet. Pain exploded through his face and behind his eyes. He let out a cry, falling back and landing hard on his rear. Stars burst in his vision. Warm blood spilled from his nose, filling his mouth with the taste of copper, dripping off his chin. Brice brought his hands up to stem the flow of blood, but someone caught his wrists, a familiar drawl telling him, "Now, don't do that, Brice. Won't do ya no good anyhow. You know that. C'mon…"

He blinked up at Gage, who was smiling kindly at him, then turned to look at his partner and patient. Brice raised his hand, pointing at them, ready to protest, but Gage stopped him again.

"No no no," he said, "You come with me, pal. Bellingham's takin' care of the patient. C'mon, let's go…"

Gage carefully helped Brice to his feet and led him outside, setting him down on the running board of the squad. Blood was still running from his nose. Gage got to work, handing Brice a thick bandage to stem the flow of blood, and gently probed the bridge of his nose, making him wince and flinch.

"Sorry, Brice… Doesn't feel broken, in any case, so that's good. Y'know, we gotta stop meeting like this."

"I don't understand," Brice said, his voice muffled by the bandage and distorted by the swelling.

Gage chuckled softly, told him, "I keep findin' ya hurt, pal. Now, I like to give ya grief, but I don't like seein' ya hurt. That fella in there sure got feisty in a hurry. Had a quick knee. You're lucky your glasses didn't break."

"I s'pose I ab."

He received another soft smile from Gage. _I wish I knew why he did this, why he keeps being so nice._ No one has ever been this nice to him before, no one but Bellingham. It was different with Bellingham, though, because he was patient and kind by default. Gage was spontaneous and excitable and impatient and sometimes he went off at the mouth. Brice found him grating at first, didn't understand his personality, but he did now. He understood Gage, he thought, understood that under his unrefined exterior was one of the kindest people anyone could hope to meet. _I just don't understand why he's so nice to me._ Gage wore a soft, crooked smile.

"We're lucky, I suppose. Only one has to go to Rampart is that fella bleedin' from his femoral. Bellingham's goin' with him in the ambulance. I'll drive ya in your squad, that okay?"

Brice simply nodded, hating the distortion in his voice. Gage carefully took Brice's wrists and moved his hands away from his face, squinting at his nose.

"Yeah… Yup, looks like the bleedin' stopped. Ready for Rampart?"

"I think so."

"Alright, lemme go tell Roy. Be right back…"

He was back in a moment, and the two paramedics climbed into Squad 16. Gage was not smiling anymore.

"Is something the matter, Gage?" Brice asked quietly.

"Hmm… what? Yeah, no… not really, no. Why?"

"You seemed to be in good enough spirits before you spoke with DeSoto but not when you returned. I believe the two of you are good friends, so I find it unlikely that you had some sort of fight. Does it have something to do with an earlier run?"

"Guess I can't put anything past ya, huh?" Gage replied, sighed quietly, ran a hand through his brown hair, "Yeah, we had a pretty bad run earlier. Involved a kid. Only-… Only eight years old and tried to kill herself with antidepressants, you believe that? Never knew at eight what suicide was, myself. Roy feels awful about it, though. He's got two kids of his own, after all, can't help but feel different about calls with kids. I just-… I can't believe she wanted to kill herself that young…"

Brice hummed in agreement, looked down, said nothing. His blood covered hands twitched in his lap.

xXxXx

Johnny walked with Brice down the corridor to a treatment room.

"Hello, Johnny. Hello, Brice, what can I- oh, my… What happened, Brice?" Early asked.

"A patient."

"He took a knee to the face, doc. Wanna be sure the nose isn't broken."

"Well, I think I can do that. Just let me have a look… I'm sorry if it hurts, Brice."

Johnny simply stood to the side and watched. Brice was a ghastly mess. Half his face was covered in blood, big splotches of it on his shirt, caked on his hands, soaked in his pants.

"Brice, you're pretty lucky," Early said after a moment, "Your nose doesn't seem to be broken. You're gonna have some pretty spectacular bruising for a week or so, but the soreness will go away soon."

"Thank you, Dr. Early."

Johnny stepped up as Early left, saying, "You oughta get cleaned up, Brice. Ya look like a horror show. Here, lemme help."

"I don't require assistance."

"I want to help, how 'bout that? Just sit…"

He grabbed a clean towel and a bowl of cold water. Brice was fidgeting in his seat slightly, not looking at Johnny, and something occurred to him. He wet the towel, stepped up to Brice, carefully took his chin in his hand. As gently as he could, Johnny swept the damp fabric over Brice's face, cleaning up the dried blood.

"Say, Brice… can I ask you somethin'?"

"I suppose."

His eyes were shut.

"It's just-… well… You didn't really seem fazed by what happened, by gettin' hit in the face. I mean, ya looked hurt, definitely, but not, I dunno, not bothered by it."

"That isn't a question, Gage."

"You know what I mean."

Brice gave a little sigh, explained softly, "My childhood was neither exemplary nor horrible. I wasn't neglected, but my parents didn't particularly know how to care for me and didn't care to figure out how. At school, I was bullied, even by my teachers on occasion. The other children were physical and enjoyed hitting me, so I'm actually used to bleeding from the nose. If you would like me to be entirely truthful, some of the other firemen in the department haven't been too kind to me, either."

Johnny's hand stilled, the towel resting on Brice's chin. If he was being perfectly honest with himself, he knew Brice had been bullied as a kid. Kids were horrible and quickly ostracized anyone who was different. He hadn't expected adults to be worse. _I really can't believe anyone in the department would hurt him._ Johnny was no angel, had said his fair share of meanness aimed at Brice, but he would never dream of harming him.

"Who was it?"

"Who was what?"

"In the department. Who hurt you? I wanna know."

Brice was irritating, but he didn't deserve to be abused by the men he was supposed to trust. The younger man shook his head, saying, "No. I don't want any more trouble. It's over. It's all in the past."

"It's bullshit," Johnny told him, resuming his gentle ministrations, "You're supposed to be able to trust your fellow firemen, shouldn't be afraid of 'em. They're grown men. They oughta now better."

They both fell quiet, Johnny carefully cleaning the blood off Brice's face, something rolling in his gut that felt like anger. Had anyone ever shown this young man any type of affection at all? Had he ever been touched in a way that was pleasant and gentle rather than hurtful? _I grew up an orphan, but I grew up loved by the family I had left._ He couldn't imagine what Brice must have gone through as a child, what he went through now as an adult. A sudden and cold realization washed over him, and he thought he understood now why a child would know about suicide. He clenched his jaw, anger roiling up inside him again. _It just ain't right._

"Gage… Gage?... John?"

He finally looked up, blinking, almost confused. Brice had never used his given name before, never used anyone's given name. Johnny, without even realizing it, had finished cleaning Brice's face and had started on his hands.

"Umm-… shit, I'm sorry, Brice. I don't- I just- I wasn't even-"

"Thank you, John."

He looked up into the round face, the bright eyes, the big glasses. He heard the unspoken words following the thanks. Thank you for helping me. Thank you for being patient. Thank you for your kindness and gentleness and righteous anger. It was all there. Johnny smiled at him.

"You are very welcome, Brice."

Bellingham came in shortly after, smiling broadly, asking, "Everything okay, kid? Nothin' broken?"

"No, nothing broken."

"Well, that's good. I was worried about you, y'know? Ya looked like a guy in a horror movie or some shit, you were covered in so much blood," the big paramedic said, stepping up close to Brice, gripping one of his shoulders in a thick hand.

Brice offered him the merest smile, told him, "Gage took excellent care of me. I'm feeling fine, Bob, really…"

Johnny left them to it, suddenly felt like an intruder on a private moment, and went to find his own partner. Roy and Dixie were standing at the bay station with Morton, who left as Johnny approached. Roy's expression was dark.

"That little girl, Billie… she hasn't woken up yet," he said quietly, "Morton isn't sure she ever will. She's up in ICU."

"Morton's a Debbie Downer. He always expects the worst."

Roy said nothing, only shook his head and walked away. Dixie beckoned Johnny closer and whispered, "Take care of him, Johnny. He's really torn up over this."

"But the kid'll be alright, won't she? Morton's exaggerating again, right?"

"Not this time. Billie took a lot of pills. Chances are more likely she'll die than live at this point."

Johnny's stomach lurched. Dixie reached out and took his arm, whispering, "Take care of yourselves," before she was called away. He watched her go, his stomach rolling uncomfortably, a dull ache starting in his chest.

The rest of the afternoon was busy enough for them to forget. After half-past nine, the crew shuffled in after a grease fire had gotten out of control, all ready for a shower and bed. Johnny and Roy went first, and the phone rang partway through Cap and Mike's. Chet went to pick it up, then called in, "Johnny, Roy, it's for you. It's Morton."

Johnny said, "I'll take it," getting to his feet, trying to ignore the way Roy had blanched at Chet's words.

"Hey, doc, what is it?" he asked, "Is it Billie? Did she wake up?"

" _No, Gage_ ," Morton replied, " _I'm afraid she didn't. She died about an hour ago. I tried to call but you were out. She just took too many pills too fast. Her body simply couldn't handle it and shut down. I thought you and DeSoto would want to know._ "

"No, yeah… yeah, thank- uh, thanks, Morton. I really appreciate it. I'll tell Roy… Thanks."

" _Of course… and Johnny?_ "

"Yeah?"

" _I really am sorry. I was really hopin' she'd pull through._ "

"We all were. Thanks again, doc. See ya around."

The dull ache was back in force, his stomach twisting itself into knots. He blinked rapidly, forcing back tears. This couldn't be. How could a child do this to themselves? How could anyone? Chet poked his head in, looked at Johnny, stepped in all the way. His eyes were full of concern and sadness.

"Johnny? Is everything okay?"

"No… no, nothin's okay."

"Is it that girl?"

"She's dead."

Chet made a soft noise, and Johnny swallowed against the lump in his throat. His breath hitched. Chet stepped closer to rest a hand on his bicep, gently rubbing, saying nothing. Johnny stood for a moment to compose himself, to allow himself the momentary comfort.

"I-I gotta tell Roy."

"I know."

He made his way into the dorm, where Roy was still sitting on his bunk, Marco beside him. The lineman got up as Johnny made his way over, giving Johnny's shoulder a squeeze as he passed. Roy's lip was trembling. _I don't like this. Roy doesn't cry. I've never seen him cry._ Johnny sat beside him, simply said, "Billie died."

Roy sucked in a gasp, covering his mouth with one hand, his tears spilling over. Sharp pain stabbed through Johnny's chest. His partner pulled in a few hiccupping breaths, obviously trying to maintain his composure and obviously failing. He let out a sob, and Johnny draped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. They weren't supposed to get involved with patients, weren't supposed to care so much, but how could they not care? How could they not care about the children and parents and sick and wounded? _They tell us to be strong, to pretend we don't care, to be aloof and professional. They don't tell us how._ Roy let out another sob.

Johnny didn't know how to be strong just now. He shifted, wrapped his arms around Roy, held him tight, gently cradled the back of his head. Roy's body shivered and shuddered against his. Forcing down his own grief for the time being, he held his sobbing friend, stroking his hair and rubbing his back and shushing him quietly. He whispered, "You-You're okay, Roy. I got ya. Just go 'head and get it all out. I got ya, pal… Just get it all out, Roy… get it all out…"

He offered no platitudes on life after death or better places or new life. He barely believed any of that himself, knew he couldn't make Roy believe it, not when Roy had been raised Catholic where suicide was a mortal sin. The sound of Roy crying pierced his heart. It was just so sad and broken and horrible. Johnny never wanted to hear it again. He closed his eyes against his tears and ducked his head, lips close to Roy's ear, his soothing whispers slipping into the language of his Seminole ancestors, the Mvskoke flowing from his tongue with practiced ease. He only wanted his friend's grief to end. He couldn't bear to hear Roy cry anymore.

After a few minutes, Roy stopped sobbing and pulled away slightly, looking at Johnny. His cheeks were wet and splotched with color, his eyes glassy, the cloudy-sky irises rimmed in angry red. He was still shaking finely, sniffed loudly, whispered hoarsely, "It-It isn't fair."

"No… No, it isn't."

Roy carefully got to his feet and slumped into the latrine. Johnny watched him go, the ache still heavy in his chest. Slowly, he rose and left the dorm, heading out to the little parking lot, unable to be inside any longer. It felt cloying and heavy and suffocating. He needed to be outside, needed to feel the wind and see what stars he could and smell grass and leaves, needed to see the world was still moving.

"Johnny?"

Chet stood in front of him in his t-shirt and bunker pants, his suspenders loose enough that the pants were slung low on his hips. He approached Johnny and the Rover slowly, climbed up to sit next to him on the tailgate, pressing close in spite of the warm night. It felt nice, comforting, solid. He leaned into Chet. A warm, strong arm slid around his back to hold him there. Johnny felt the tears return to his eyes, but he didn't try to stop them, simply allowed them to spill down his cheeks. His breath hitched.

"Why did this happen?" Johnny whimpered, "She was just a-a kid, Chet-…"

"I wish I had an answer, babe… I really do. God, Johnny, I'm so sorry… so sorry…"

Johnny felt his expression crumple, couldn't stop the sob from escaping his lips, brought a hand up to cover his mouth. Chet's hand came up to cradle his head, gently keeping it pressed to his shoulder, fingers stroking along his scalp. His chest ached violently, something in his deeply wounded by this experience, something that might never fully heal. _At least Chet knows. He understands._

"You'll be okay," Chet told him softly, "Maybe not tomorrow and maybe not the next day… but you will be okay. I know. I promise."

Johnny sniffed again, giving a weak sob and pressing impossibly closer into Chet's side, soaking in the love and comfort of his friend.

xXxXx

Marco sat on his bunk, almost numb, no longer having the energy to get his shower. Roy was in the latrine now, anyway, and Marco was loath to interrupt the man's grief. _If he didn't wanna be alone, he would've stayed with Johnny._ Johnny, too, had retreated from the dorm, with Chet following, and Cap had ventured into the office. Marco sighed softly. It seemed no one would be sleeping much tonight.

He jumped as the bunk dipped under added weight, looked to his right, automatically leaned into the warmth of his lover. Mike's arm wrapped around his shoulder, holding him close. Normally, Marco would balk a bit at such a display of their affection in the station, but under the circumstances, he was sure no one would even blink. _It's just so hard to believe…_ He had thought of killing himself after seeing his brother and younger sister die, but when it came time to do it, he couldn't go through with it. He knew how it would hurt the ones he'd leave behind. _I guess maybe an eight-year-old can't think that far ahead._

Fingers began to play in Marco's hair, rubbing against his scalp, toying with the strands at the nape of his neck. Marco sighed quietly and nestled further against Mike. It was strange to think such an awful thing had happened to a family today, and no one would take any notice of it in the world at large. There wouldn't be a story about it in tomorrow's paper, no anchor lamenting a little girl's death on the news. _Someone else should know. Someone other than the family and the people like us…_ He closed his eyes as Mike continued his ministrations.

" _Voy a llamar a mi madre mañana_ ," Marco whispered to no one, " _Me gustaría pedir que ella rece por la niñita… Rezos a Santa Felicidad de Roma…_ "

"Hmm? What was that, babe?" Mike asked.

"Nothing… Nothing, I just need to call Mama tomorrow."

"Okay, I'll remind you in the morning," Mike replied, daring a quick kiss to Marco's temple, "Hey, why don't you get ready for bed. I'm gonna see if I can corral everyone and try to get them to rest. It's only a matter of time now before we get another run, and I think it'll best for everyone if we've had at least a little rest. We've been lucky up 'til now. C'mon, go to bed…"

Marco hummed in agreement and went to do as he was bid. _It's been too quiet for us. Other stations have been called out. I've heard it._ He sent silent thanks to whatever higher power granted it them, granted them time enough to grieve, especially Roy and Johnny. Mike had only just gathered everyone into the dorm when the tones dropped for an unknown type rescue at a bar. Everyone got together and hurried to the apparatus, ready for the work to take their mind off the sadness.


	29. Surety (and the Lack Thereof)

_**Warnings: language, strong sexual content.**_

 _ **Goodness me, more apologies are in order. I had an extra day of work this weekend, and my schedule was all thrown off. Just to be safe, I will be switching these last few chapters to Tuesday postings, as I do have them off and am more available to edit and type and everything. Apologies for the wait.**_

 _ **Edit-see end for more notes.**_

* * *

He trudges along, looking for a place to sleep. This Dog is tired a lot. He doesn't know why. He doesn't have a pack anymore. There were Humans that ran with This Dog once, but they had gone away and left him alone. He joined a Dog pack, but he has short legs and trips over his ears a lot, so they left him behind, too. Without a pack, This Dog is not safe. A dog needs a pack. It has always been this way. He keeps walking. He stays out of the Black Trails, avoids the Metal Beasts. He knows that much.

This Dog walks and walks until he finds an open den. It's big and made of red stone. Best of all, he can smell food and Humans. This will be a Good Place. He goes in. There isn't any food out for the taking, but he sees a long brown bed he can sleep on. Couch. Humans call it a couch, and Good Dogs don't get on the couch. This Dog was not a Good Dog, however. The Humans wouldn't have left him if he were. He gets on the couch and goes to sleep.

Loud rumbling wakes him up. He picks up his head. He sees two big Metal Beasts roll in and stop. Then, six Humans come in, but one comes right over to look at him. It is a funny kind of Human, with a lot of very curly fur on top of his head and a patch of it under his nose. The Human cocks its head, like it doesn't understand why This Dog is there. He is only there because it is nice and dry. Isn't that why any animal goes into a den? The other Humans come to join the first, one with shaggy fur, another with fur under his nose. They start talking, their mouths creating unfamiliar sounds This Dog doesn't entirely understand. There is a loud sound, a lot of them, and the Humans all leave.

They all come back later and sit eating at the table. This Dog remembers not to beg at the table for food. He is hungry, but he doesn't beg. The Human with the curly fur gets up with a bowl of food, crouches in front of him, sets the bowl down. This Dog likes the couch, and he is still wary of these new Humans. Another dog This Dog knew died when a Human fed it something. The food killed the rats, too. This Dog stays on the couch. Curly Fur still sits on the floor, trying to coax him to eat while two other Humans leave.

The couch is very nice. This Dog hasn't laid anywhere so nice in a long time, and he is loath to get up, even for food. Curly Fur plies him with food and water, but he doesn't want to get up. When the two come back, the Humans all talk again, looking at him. This Dog remembers groups of Humans hurting dogs. He doesn't think these ones will hurt him. The Two come over and start touching him, touch his nose and ears and belly, and it feels nice. They make loud sounds at each other, like fighting, and those other loud sounds call them away. This Dog stays on the couch.

When they come back again, they smell like dirt and fear and relief. They go to clean themselves, only four of them there, and they sit with This Dog until the Two return. Another Two sit on either side of him, one with fur under his nose and one who is tall and thin, a Two behave like a mated pair. They speak again, and This Dog understands 'Keep,' 'Call,' sounds like that. Good sounds. Then he hears it. Henry. He picks up his head, wags his tail as they pet and touch him. It feels nice. Henry. This Dog has a name now. They call him Henry. He knew they would be good. That was why he finally ate their food. Henry wags his tail. Henry stays on the couch.

xXxXx

"Hey, Chet," Hank said, stepping into the day room, "It's time to turn in, pal."

Chet looked up from his spot on the couch beside the newfound Henry. He'd been pretty broken up over the death of their last station dog, Boot. They had all been sad, Hank included, but no one had been more upset than Chet. He was the one who was closest to Boot. Very blue eyes blinked up at Hank.

"Yeah, I know, Cap. Just-… It's Henry's first night here," Chet explained softly, a light flush coloring his cheeks, "I don't want him to feel alone."

A gentle smile graced Hank's face in spite of himself. _He can be a real twit sometimes, but I can't deny he's a good kid._ He stood quietly for a moment, simply watched as Chet's hand rubbed along Henry's flank. Warmth bloomed in Hank's chest, soft and bright. He sighed quietly, told Chet, "Alright, pal, just don't be too late."

Hank went back into the dorm, ready for bed himself.

"Where's Chet?"

Marco stood by, looking a bit worried, a bit concerned. Hank smiled, "Oh, he's fine. He just wants to make Henry feel at home his first night here."

"I should've known. As soon as he laid eyes on that dog, we all knew it was staying. Well, it'll be good for him. He really loved Boot, and he really gets along with dogs. Maybe he'll fall asleep out there, but there's no real harm if he does. Anyway… night, Cap."

"G'night, Marco. Night, fellas."

The other three men chorused their goodnight, all climbing into their bunks for what would hopefully be a good night's rest. Hank listened to his men drift to sleep one by one, until he was the only one awake. He thought some part of him must have been waiting for Chet to come to bed. A memory came to him of Chet telling Johnny he would talk to Boot sometimes, and something twisted in Hank's chest. Quietly as he could, Hank got out of bed, stepped into his bunkers, padded across the bay to peek into the day room.

Chet lay across the couch, Henry on his chest, both man and dog snoring faintly. That soft smile returned to Hank's face. There was something calming in the sight of the two of them sleeping so peacefully when they've only just met. _This is gonna be good for him. He needs someone to be close to._ Chet lived alone, but Hank got the distinct feeling that the young man craved closeness and intimacy and love. He could sense it in the way Chet would stand too close for too long, would hover around them all, the way he used to dote on Boot. This lazy hound would be good for him.

He looked at man and dog again, saw Chet was shivering finely in the autumn night air. Hank stole over to the engine to retrieve Chet's turnout and went just as quietly into the day room, carefully draping it over the two of them like a blanket. He looked down at the sleeping man, couldn't help himself, gently smoothed the coat over him, murmured, "Goodnight, Chet. Goodnight, Henry."

As quietly as he came, he left, returned to the dorm, and went back to bed, easily falling asleep now that he knew Chet was alright.

xXxXx

Bright sunlight and the smell of coffee pulled Chet from sleep slowly. He blinked, bringing a hand up to rub at his eyes. Looking down, he could see someone had covered him with his turnout at some point overnight, covered him and Henry with it as if it were a blanket. Warmth settled in his chest and spread out to his limbs. He was cared for, and it was so nice, so comforting to have the knowledge. He cast his gaze to the sleeping hound.

 _Where did you come from, little buddy?_ He'd been wondering about Henry since he arrived. He was such a sweet, loving dog, and Chet couldn't understand how he'd ended up wandering the streets. Had someone abandoned him out of pure meanness or cruelty? Did he live with a family who had loved him but could no longer care for him? Did he run away and get lost with his family still out there looking for him? Was he just always a stray dog, born on the street and living on scraps? _I wish dogs could talk. Then we'd know._ He stroked along the dog's head, pausing to rub his velvety ears.

Chet had often wished dogs could talk, particularly when Boot was around. Even without words, the mutt had been such a comfort, could sit close and cuddle up with him. Words might not have been needed, but they may have been nice. He felt the words, however, felt that Boot was telling him everything would be alright and that he was enough and that he wasn't alone. Actually hearing them was sometimes more needed.

Henry had drooled on him at some point while he slept, and as much as Chet wanted to be mad, he quickly found he couldn't be.

"Someone had a good night's sleep," a voice teased.

He turned his head. Mike was smirking at him from the table, coffee in hand.

"Yeah… s'pose I did," he replied, "Hey, who covered us up last night?"

Mike shrugged, but Chet was pretty sure he knew that Mike knew and simply wasn't telling him. The thought was comforting, though, that each of his shiftmates was as likely as the next to have shown him that act of love. Mike got to his feet and strode over to Chet and Henry, gently petting the still sleeping dog.

"Y'know, Chet, you're gonna have to get up sometime."

"Yeah, I know… He just looks so happy. I hate to wake him up," he said, chewed his lip, asked, "Mike? Cap's gonna let Henry stay, right?"

"I don't see why not."

"Good. I like Henry. I want him to have a good life."

The engineer gave him a gentle smile, and he offered one in return. Henry began to stir, making soft noises and shifting around. Chet laughed quietly. Sudden emotion welled up inside him, the memories of Boot washing over him. Mike must have noticed. He quickly set down his mug and knelt by Chet, reaching out to rest a hand on his arm, asking, "What is it, Chet? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he sniffed, "nothi- well… not nothing, obviously… I dunno… Just-… me an' Boot used to sleep like this a lot and… I guess it just hit me is all…"

Henry picked his head up and licked Chet's chin as if to offer his comfort, as if he knew Chet was upset. _Dogs always know._ He sniffed again, scratched Henry's ears gently. Mike rubbed his arm for a moment, then got up as the rest of the shift came in. No one made a comment about him sleeping on the couch with the dog, not even Johnny.

"Alright, Henry, pal… c'mon, I gotta get up," Chet told the sleepy hound, "I know I make a nice pillow, but I do have a job to do, y'know?"

A few of the guys laughed. _Good._ Chet liked to make people laugh, always did. Seeing their happiness made him happy in turn, and he so often desperately needed to be happy. Johnny sauntered over, smiling.

"Chet, I gotta say, man, you look like you are well-rested," Johnny said quietly.

"I guess I am. Me an' Henry slept like babies. I just can't get him to move now."

"You'll move him when ya need to, I reckon. Gonna hafta hit the head sometime."

"Yeah, I guess that's true… Man… I wish I could take him home with me. It'd be nice not to be alone."

Johnny said nothing else; Chet couldn't blame him. It was hard to know what to say sometimes in words, though Johnny's sad smile pretty much said it all for him. Chet occasionally wondered if ought to get a roommate. An animal would be nice, but it was simply not the same as human companionship. He also, however, occasionally worried. He watched Johnny's gentle hand stroke one of Henry's ears. His stomach twisted warmly.

If Chet was being truly honest with himself, the state of his sexuality was extremely nebulous. A large part of him wasn't even sure he had a sexuality to speak of. There were people he liked to look at, people he thought were pretty or handsome, people he wanted to be close to, but he was quite certain he never wanted to have sex with any of them. He thought back to Mellie. _We fucked, sure, but there wasn't really anything behind it. We both knew it._ Sex between them had been a distraction and nothing more, something they did to take their minds off what had happened to them. Since then, it had ceased to be even that.

He wanted no part of sexual affairs anymore. They held neither interest nor appeal for him. _I just need a friend, someone who'll… who'll just stay._ Chet wasn't entirely sure, however, that was doable. He was more than abrasive on occasion, had moments when a dark depression would set in, when his nightmares left him screaming and shaking and crying. Who in their right mind would sign up for such a thing? Returning his gaze to Johnny, Chet felt his stomach twist again. _Maybe… I've always said Johnny's not in his right mind._ Perhaps he could bring it up to him soon.

xXxXx

Mike gave a quiet sigh as he shut the bathroom door behind him, ready for a shower and a short nap. He carefully stripped out of his clothes and reached for his shorts when Marco knocked on the door, peeked in, smirked.

"Can I help you?" Mike queried teasingly.

"Maybe," Marco replied, slipping into the bathroom, "I was just thinkin' maybe we could save a 'lil water and shower together."

"Yeah? I'm pretty sure every time we shower together we end up using more water because of all our extracurriculars."

"It's a chance I'm willing to take," he shrugged, still smirking.

"Then I think you better hurry up and get naked, babe."

Marco quickly stripped down, revealing he was already half-hard. The sight sent heat rushing to Mike's groin, his own cock taking notice. _I still think he's the sexiest guy alive. No one even turns my head like he does._ Unable to keep his hands to himself, Mike grabbed Marco's hips, pulling him close and pressing a heated kiss to his lips.

"If you're not careful," Marco breathed, "we won't even make it into the shower."

"Oh, we will… but I'm pretty sure now I'm gonna fuck you in that shower."

A groan rumbled in Marco's throat, his cock hard against Mike's thigh. Mike grazed his teeth over Marco's neck, whispered, "Wait here," went to get the lube. It wasn't very often that he topped, so they were definitely going to need it. When he returned to the bathroom, Marco was sitting on the edge of the tub, legs splayed open, and Mike honestly began to salivate. _Yeah, I've got it bad._ Mike dropped to his knees in front of his lover, licked a stripe up the underside of his cock, swirled his tongue around the head. Marco sucked in a sharp breath, his hand coming up to grip the hair at the back of Mike's head, tugging gently. The sensation went right to Mike's dick.

He wrapped one hand around Marco's cock, pumping slowly, and touched two fingers to his lips, encouraging him to take them into his mouth. He bit his lip at the sensation of the warm tongue teasing his fingers. _Fuck, I'm already so hard._ Mike swallowed Marco about halfway and, coaxing him to his feet, carefully pressed his saliva-coated fingers into Marco's ass. Fingers tightened in his hair. Mike easily deep-throated him, relaxing his jaw, forcing his gag reflex not to kick in, reveling in the heat and weight on his tongue. A loud moan dropped from Marco's lips. Working his fingers in and out, he bobbed his head, fucking his mouth with Marco's cock.

"Mike… _queri-querido_ … fuck-…"

Marco tugged a little tighter on Mike's hair, pulling him up from his knees, licking hotly into his mouth. Shaking hands grabbed his shorts and yanked them down.

"What are you tryin' to do to me, babe?" Marco asked huskily, "You keep doin' shit like that, I'm gonna cum before the fun really starts."

"I'm sure I'd get it back up again in a hurry."

He kissed Marco more slowly this time and stepped over to the shower. Anticipation flowed through his blood. Marco grinned at him as they stepped into the spray, asking, "You gonna fuck me good, huh?"

"You know it. I learned from the best, after all."

Mike pushed him up against the wall of the shower, kissing him hard while Marco pumped his cock, covering it with lube. He broke away after a moment, lavishing attention on the brown throat in front of him.

"Shit… want you to fuck me so hard, _mi amor_ ," he breathed, "Please…"

"You're ready for me? You think you're ready for me to fuck you?"

His words weren't just dirty talk. They also served to ensure Marco had been prepared enough, that he truly was ready for Mike. Marco whined, rolled his hips, told him, " _Si, querido_ … I-I wanna feel you inside me, Mike, please… I need you."

Mike desperately wished he possessed the strength to hold Marco up against the wall and fuck him, but that was sadly not going to happen today. He put his hands on the muscular hips and turned his lover around, water rolling in rivulets down their backs. Pressing his lips to the nape of Marco's neck, Mike carefully pushed in, already feeling how tight he was. Marco's mouth dropped open in a silent gasp. Mike gently bit the shoulder in front of him as he slowly thrust, pinned Marco's hands to the wall, gave a final roll of his hips to fully bury himself, growled in his ear, "Shit, you're so fuckin' tight, babe."

"I know… maybe because it's a-a rare treat to be fucked by you."

"Shoulda let me know you liked it so much."

"Thought I did."

Mike rolled his hips, pulling out some and pushing back in, dragging a groan from Marco. It was true that Mike enjoyed topping, enjoyed being a bit dominant and rough and in charge, however, he generally preferred to bottom. At work, he was second-in-command, and Cap had recently taken to giving him little tasks around the station that seemed like practice for being a captain. It was nice to get rid of all the pressure and let someone else take charge. Today, though… Mike thrust sharply, the slap echoing slightly in the shower, amplified by wet skin.

Water pounded against his shoulder and dripped down his face. Marco pushed back against his thrusts, moaning in time with their movements, vocal as ever. A wonderful burn was starting in Mike's thighs and buttocks and hips from his efforts. He increased the speed of his fucking, pulling hands away from Marco's wrists to grip his hips, giving himself a bit more leverage.

"Oh, yeah…" Marco gasped, "Oh, fuck… yeah, fuck my ass…"

"You like that? Huh, Marco, babe, you like my cock in your ass?"

"Fu-Fuck yeah…"

Mike wrapped his arms around Marco's torso and pulled him in so his back was flush against his chest, continued to rock up into him, felt Marco shaking from pleasure, his body reacting exquisitely to be so thoroughly fucked. His head dropped back onto Mike's shoulder, breath hitching on each thrust. Mike let his lips trail over the beautiful throat.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful, Marco."

He buried himself fully and stilled, heard Marco whine low in his throat, brought a hand up to stroke his wet hair back from his forehead. Two hands grabbed his ass and pulled, Marco trying to get him to move again. Mike laughed quietly, gently dragged his teeth over Marco's throat.

"I'd like to see you cum, baby," he whispered over the spray of the water, "I'm gonna fuck you and you're not gonna touch yourself and you're gonna cum for me."

Marco shivered, groaned, rolled his hips. Mike returned to a feverish pace without warning. A keening moan slipped from Marco's lips, his body clenching around Mike's cock, forcing a gasp from Mike's lungs. He was close, and he could tell Marco was, too. He cast his gaze down his lover's body to his flushed cock.

"C'mon, babe, lemme see you cum for me, Marco…"

Mike gave a final sharp thrust. Marco's hips slammed back against his. A explosive groan sounded in Mike's ear as Marco shot cum over the shower wall, cock twitching with his release, body clenching around Mike once more.

"Alright, c'mon, _mi amor_ , fuck my ass… Need you to cum in me."

Taking hold of his hips once more, Mike fucked into him roughly, desperate for his own release. He felt heat pooling in his groin and in the base of his spine, couldn't tell if the rushing in his ears was water or his heartbeat. Light burst behind his eyes. Mike sucked in a series of shuddering gasps, his breath hitching as he spilled his cum inside his lover, hips stuttering.

They both breathed heavily, each leaning on the other for the time being, each thoroughly sated and fucked out.

"We still hafta shower," Marco muttered.

Mike let out a bark of laughter, agreed, "Yeah, I s'pose we do."

xXxXx

Johnny invited Chet to crash at his place for a bit, thought it would give him a chance to think. Chet, apparently, was considering moving out of his current apartment and seeking a roommate. Concurrently, Johnny was considering much the same. Neither told the other, instead used Marco as a go-between who was sworn to secrecy, knowing Marco would never tell the other anything explicit.

Chet was currently sacked out on Johnny's couch, snoring faintly, hand having dropped onto the floor. He slept peacefully, his features smooth and round and soft. _He looks sweet almost…_ Johnny sighed quietly. It bothered him to know Chet often felt lonely. He supposed he always knew it, somewhere deep down, but he didn't want to think of it, pushed it away until he didn't have to. Now though, he'd heard it from Chet's own mouth. That wasn't something he could hide from anymore.

Sighing again, Johnny shifted in his chair, still watching his friend. He knew the lineman didn't like to be alone, used to seek out quick dates and one-night-stands for momentary companionship but didn't anymore. _He doesn't date anymore. He sure hasn't talked about anyone, an' he would talk._ Johnny supposed he understood. Dating had kind of lost its appeal for him, too. Too many people asked when he was going to settle down with a nice girl and start a family, and he was sick of deflecting the questions. He liked sex, certainly, liked it with all kinds of people, and he was perfectly content with some free love and no attachments.

Perhaps he just needed a friend to live with, someone to provide companionship but not be a sexual concern. _'Cause I love Chet, I really do… but I sure don't wanna fuck 'im._ Johnny sometimes got a bit lonely, too, after all, wished he had someone right there to talk to, to laugh with… to cry and rage with. Theirs was a hard job, and being alone wasn't always the best way to handle something bad. Roy and Cap were married and had their wives to go home to. Marco and Mike were, for all intents and purposes, married to each other in every way that mattered and went home together. Johnny and Chet were alone unless they briefly went with someone else. Still, it wasn't the same.

Chet shifted in his sleep, his features contracting slightly, a low noise escaping his throat. Johnny watched him for a moment, waited. He knew the other man longed for comfort and contact and touch. He could practically see it in his eyes, could feel it whenever he stood too close. A quiet whine left Chet's lips, some dream obviously bringing him discomfort, and Johnny found he couldn't sit by any longer, not when his friend was upset. He got to his feet and went to Chet, sitting on the edge of the couch by his hips. Chet whined again.

Johnny reached out and settled his hand on Chet's shoulder and back, rubbing soothingly, watched in awe and happiness when Chet calmed immediately. A smile crept onto Johnny's face in spite of himself. _That's right. You just sleep, babe._ Perhaps he could bring up being roommates in the morning.

* * *

 _ **A/N: For whoever keeps insinuating that I'm plagiarizing kelmin/TrapeloRoad on AO3, please stop. I have never, and would never, do anything so mean and awful. I have honestly never read 'Lucky Dog' until after I posted this chapter. I'm writing from the point of view of Henry from when he arrives. I literally watched the episode and just followed what the characters were doing. Truthfully, I went back to a Sherlock fic in which John Watson used to be a dog**_ _ **to see how they handled it and**_ _ **to get some of the POV sounding the way I wanted in my head. I couldn't look to 'Lucky Dog' for anything because I didn't know it existed.**_

 _ **As for Brice and Bellingham, they literally only appear in four episodes. That's not exactly a plethora of information to go on. Have I read TrapeloRoad's fics? Hell yes. They are beautiful and wonderful and I love them. I respect the hell out of him, and I would never stoop so low as to steal from anybody who worked hard on something because I wouldn't want it done to me. I'm well aware there are similarities because there's not a whole lot I could do that was different. If you think I could have, wonderful. Let me know in a thoughtful, respectful manner. Come in my inbox. Hit up my ask on tumblr. I'm deleting any anon that isn't thoughtful discourse or is related to this issue.**_

 _ **Thank you to everyone who follows along with this massive undertaking. You're all amazing :)**_


	30. You'll Never Believe This

_**Warnings: some gore, mild language**_

 _ **All gruesome events herein are based on actual events.**_

 _ **A bit of a coda to 'Upward and Onward' (6x22); 'Sherlock' anons, see end of the chapter :)**_

* * *

Marco had to bite back a sigh of relief as the Station 51 crew watched Cap tip his chief's exam materials into the trashcan. For the last week, it felt like Hank Stanley had been replaced with a tyrant, their usually laidback and kind captain becoming almost manic and erratic about regulations. Even Henry looked relieved, still in his spot on the couch. _At least we won't be constantly mopping and buffing floors anymore._ Still, something in Marco felt bad everything had gone this way.

Cap had honestly seemed excited and enthusiastic about taking the chief's exam, truly wanted to move up the department ladder. Marco believed he could, too. Captain Stanley was a great fireman and a good leader, a good man. He would be a wonderful chief one day. Part of him was selfish, though, and didn't want Cap to leave. Marco knew things would have to change eventually, as they had to, as they always did. Their shift was running on borrowed time as it was. Other stations had been through entirely new shifts almost twice by now. Their shift had only changed captains once, and that was back in late '70. It was unprecedented.

He looked around at his shiftmates, everyone having settled down again. The brass had been sniffing around Johnny and Roy, wondering why neither had moved up to engineer or captain yet. Mike was making noises in private about becoming a captain, also. As for Marco and Chet, the engineer's exam was hanging over them. These weren't necessary steps, of course. There were lots of guys who remained linemen or engineers for their whole careers. _I'm surprised the brass hasn't decided to make some transfers for us already._ They'd been known to do it before.

Shaking himself mentally, he looked back up. No one appeared to have noticed his silent contemplation. _That's good._ He didn't want anyone to know about his worries since he had proclaimed he was no longer a worrier. Chet tipped his chair to look back at the door, then leaned in close, stage whispering, "Hey, fellas… anyone ever find out why Cap set McConnike's hat on fire?"

"Nah, I tried to ask," Roy said, "but I couldn't get an answer."

"Martinez at 8s never said why?" Mike asked.

"I don't think he knows," Roy replied.

"How would he not know?"

Roy shrugged, "How the hell should I know, Chet? Maybe he's been sworn to secrecy."

Chet's eyebrows shot up. _Oh, here we go…_ The lineman leaned a little further, asked, "Sworn to secrecy? What, are you sayin' they're in a cult or some shit?"

"Wha-? No- Chet, I'm not sayin' anything! All I'm sayin' is that maybe he knows, but everyone decided to keep it a secret. It happens."

Exasperation was clear in Roy's expression. Marco stifled a snort. The bickering was business as usual, and it settled his nerves a bit. Chet and Roy continued to argue, occasionally prodded by Johnny at the right times, fueling whichever argument he preferred at the moment. Finally, starting to feel a bit guilty, Marco cleared his throat and stated, "Well, I might know something about it."

Chairs scraped against the floor as his friends surrounded him, all looking at him expectantly.

"See… Lee Martinez and Cap worked together with a guy named Hooper who's an engineer now," Marco explained, "Hooper's a cool guy. I've worked OT with him before. Anyway, his probie year was spent at 8s with Martinez and Cap and McConnike. I OT'd there the other day with him, and I joked about how Cap was gettin' antsy about McConnike bein' his chief and the exam and everything… and he mighta told me."

"Okay, but are ya gonna tell us or keep us hangin', Marco?" Johnny asked.

"Gimme a minute… anyway, he kinda let it slip what happened. Now, I'm warning you all, it's an extremely touching story."

"We'll get the tissues later," Roy said, "Spill it."

"Well, the most important thing to know in this case is that Hooper is black. Apparently, some of the guys at 8s were treating Hooper more poorly than the usual probie, and Cap and Martinez both felt it was outright racist. Martinez brought it to Cap, who went to the guys and told them to stop, but they said they wouldn't unless the captain told 'em to. But, when Cap went to McConnike, he refused to tell 'em to cut it out. I guess Cap got fed up and took it out on McConnike's hat in order to get some attention. Then, the bad behavior stopped. Hooper got a 'lil misty-eyed when he told me, actually."

Marco had never particularly thought of Cap as a crusader for justice. He knew the man to be fair and unbiased, but an act of retribution like burning a hat wasn't something he expected, though he was pleasantly surprised by it. Everyone else seemed pretty impressed, also. All eyes turned to the office. Cap was standing in the doorway, eyebrows raised.

"Really, Lopez? You were all so fired up over the hat, you went and found Hooper?"

"I didn't go lookin' for him, Cap!" Marco protested, "It just kinda happened that I worked with him."

"Honestly, Cap, that was a better reason than anything I could've thought of," Roy responded.

Cap shrugged, "Someone had to stop it. Why not me?"

 _Shame… He's gonna be a great chief one day._

xXxXx

Roy's seen a lot on the job, as a fireman, as a paramedic. A lot of it has simply been ridiculous, such as toes in faucets and weird fads turned dangerous somehow, but some were downright gruesome, like the worker who drowned at the sewage plant or the thief whose head was impaled by a flashlight. There were days when he was quite certain he'd seen it all. Of course, he was often proved quite wrong once that thought entered his mind.

The call came over the radio for them to assist the police with a wellness check.

"Thanks, fellas," the officer greeted them at the squad, "Neighbors insisted on havin' some paramedics on hand. They're worried about this old woman, umm… Mrs. Westcott. No one's seen her in a little over a week. They thought maybe she'd just gone away for a bit, like to a home or the hospital or something, but they all realized no one had been asked to pick up mail or papers or anything like that. Nice to know people still care, isn't it?"

"S'pose it is," Johnny replied.

Roy hummed in agreement, following his partner and the officer to the door. They'd been to wellness checks before. Usually, the person had simply left and forgot to tell anyone. Sometimes they just died without telling anyone. There were very few occasions when the paramedics could actually help. Johnny went around, peeking through windows.

"Hey! I see somethin' back here in this bedroom! There's someone on the floor!"

The officer said, "That's enough for me," took a few steps back, aimed a perfect kick to the door. It crashed open. The cop immediately gagged at the smell, a mixture of fecal matter, urine, and decay that hit them as if they'd walked into a wall. _This won't be good._ Roy clamped his mouth shut and stepped further into the house, Johnny not far behind him. He felt the younger man close in on him, standing right behind him as if to seek comfort.

There was a clicking sound, nails on hardwood, and a little dog came out to greet them, all scruffy and dirty and starting to mat in places.

"How long was it since she was seen?" Johnny asked.

"The officer said right around a week…"

 _That would certainly explain the smell._ The dog was another cause. Roy looked down, trying to avoid stepping in the dog feces that was scattered through the house. It was disgusting. They were in no way, however, prepared for what they found in the bedroom.

Roy swallowed against rising bile. The woman had apparently died there on the bedroom floor some time ago, with decomposition beginning to set in. The worst part was not the decomposition. The worst part was that she had clearly been eaten by something, most likely the little dog. Part of the face had been almost eaten to the bone, the lips completely gone, the teeth bared gruesomely. The nose was but a stub. The hands, too, had been picked to the bone. One clouded eye still peered out of the skull.

"I think we better call the coroner," Roy stated through clenched teeth.

Johnny made a noise of agreement, and the two turned and carefully picked their way out, sucking in lungfuls of fresh air at the squad.

"You fellas look pretty spooked," the ME said when he arrived, "What's in there?"

"An older woman named Mrs. Westcott. Neighbors say they haven't seen her in something like a week," Roy replied, "My partner and I went in an-… and she appears to have been dead for some time, and… umm… her dog appears to have eaten some of her."

The grey-haired coroner raised his eyebrows, responded, "Hmm… what size dog?"

Taken aback by the question, Roy simply blinked at Quincy for a moment before answering.

"So fairly small… I presume the hands are gone? Most of the face?"

Roy nodded.

"Any immediate signs of foul play? Gunshot wounds? Stab wound?"

"None that we could see, doc."

"Alright… hey, I'll give ya call in a couple days when I'm all through with the autopsy, okay? Where is she inside?"

"Back in the bedroom. Just make sure to watch your step…"

Back in the squad, Johnny settled in and said, "That is one weird dude."

"I'll say. It's just… He's so nonchalant about death, so unbothered."

Johnny hummed, responded, "Yeah… but just think of all the shit he's seen on the job. Every major murder in this county has gone to Quincy for autopsy. Suicides, too. Y'know, I heard once he got in a guy who tried to kill himself with a shotgun, only he musta flinched or somethin' at the last second. Tore his face to ribbons. Left a big hole with flaps of skin-"

"I get it, John!" Roy interrupted loudly, "Jesus… I don't need all the gory details."

"Okay, alright… I'se just tryin' to make a point."

"What point?"

"That there's a reason Quincy is so weird. I don't think anyone normal can do that kinda work. Hell, firemen ain't exactly normal, either."

"I guess you're right," Roy replied, "Y'know, we're pretty weird about stuff now, too. Before I became a paramedic, I woulda thrown up out of sheer nerves if you asked me to do half the stuff we treat as routine now."

"Oh, I'm right there with ya, pal. Damn near shit myself when we first started learnin' about deliverin' babies. Now that's just another shift."

Roy didn't reply. When he'd first joined the department, he knew he'd see danger and death and pain. _I was so naïve._ They'd seen a multitude of odd injuries and weird deaths, had climbed up and down all sorts of buildings, gone into holes and onto scaffolding. He looked over to his partner. Johnny was only three years younger than him, but he always seemed much younger, especially at the beginning.

Still goofy, still sweet, still kind, Johnny really hadn't changed much at all from their first meeting, and yet he'd changed a great deal. Roy couldn't quite put his finger on it, though, on how his partner had changed. They'd been together for seven years now come March, seven years as partners in the paramedic program. _There are marriages that have lasted less time than our partnership._ Indeed, he sometimes thought their relationship was much like a marriage. They had to learn to live with each other in close quarters, with the other's idiosyncrasies, with any simple differences of opinion. They had to know how the other thought, what his next move would be in the heat of the moment. Johnny shook the hair out of his eyes.

"I think you need a haircut, Junior."

"Aww, Roy, not you, too…"

xXxXx

"Well, that was Dr. Quincy, the ME," Johnny said, walking into the day room.

"And?"

Chet perked up. The paramedics had told them of the old woman they'd found during the wellness check last shift, and he was morbidly interested in what happened. Johnny ran his hands through his hair, took his time before speaking, seemed to purposely leave everyone on edge for as long as possible.

"C'mon, Gage! Spill it!"

"Okay! Gimme a minute… Just- It's pretty gruesome, and I'm just tryin' to figure out how to explain it."

"Basic is probably best," Mike spoke up.

"Reckon ya got a point there, Stoker. Alright… so Mrs. Westcott, the woman partially eaten by her little dog after she died wasn't only partially eaten after she died."

There was a long silence.

"Quincy said about a week ago, Mrs. Westcott had a stroke that left her paralyzed, and because she doesn't have any family or anyone to check up on her, no one knew. Guess the dog got hungry after a couple days and went to town thinkin' she was dead."

"You mean… she wasn't dead already?" Chet asked slowly.

"That is correct. He said she'd only been dead about two days, but the amount of flesh eaten by a dog that size indicated to him it had been goin' on for about three days before she died."

Chet suppressed a shiver. _This is one of the more horrible deaths I've heard of._ He'd heard some pretty awful things in Vietnam, saw some terrible things as a fireman, but this one was definitely up there. Everyone was silent, likely all thinking the same thing Chet was. How horrible must it have been to know what was happening and feel it and be completely unable to stop it? He couldn't suppress a shudder that time, felt it roll up his spine like a wave. _It's enough to give a fella nightmares._ He hoped none would come tonight.

" _Station 51, Engine 15, Engine 8, garage fire with injuries…_ "

They run to their positions, the squad pulling out before the engine, both vehicles speeding to the call. The small garage was fully involved as the arrived. Marco ran to hook up the line, and Chet pulled on his tank and air mask along with Johnny and Roy.

"Kelly! Pull a line around to cover Gage and DeSoto!" Cap called.

Chet hurried to obey, pulling the line around, feeling it grow heavy as it charged. Adrenaline coursed through his blood. He opened the line, planting his feet against its power. Hands settled on either shoulder. _I am their way in._ The large bay door was gone, melted and eaten by flame, so Chet pushed his way in, Marco and Cap joining with another line. Thick black smoke poured from the small structure. Johnny's hand gripped his shoulder, and Chet knew his friend was carefully scanning the space in front of him, looking for the victims.

"Roy!" Cap shouted, "Roy! I got word there's two victims inside! Father and son!"

Chet's stomach rolled, his chest tightening, but it didn't remove his focus.

"There! Roy-!"

Johnny's hand left his shoulder as he dove headlong into the burning garage, obviously having spotted the victims when they hadn't. Roy's went soon after, the paramedic swiftly following his partner. Chet moved in behind them, dousing them with spray to protect them from the flames. His job was to protect his friends right now, and their job was to worry about the patients.

Roy emerged first, bearing the burned body of one of the victims, probably the father. This was confirmed when Johnny appeared carrying the son, a teenager. Chet tried not to look, but the charred body passed right by him. He looked away quickly, focused his attention on the fire once more.

"Chet, go help Roy and Johnny, would ya? They need extra hands," Cap told him.

He wanted to protest, wanted to ask him to ask Marco, but he didn't. It wouldn't be fair to Marco to have him set to the grisly task, so Chet simply passed over his line and went to do as he was bid.

Johnny and Roy were working furiously, passing the biophone back and forth, tearing open packs and prepping IVs.

"Chet, we need more sterile sheets," Roy told him, "Quick. For me and John."

The sight of the patients turned Chet's stomach. The father wasn't so bad, but the son… _I've never seen anyone burned that bad._ The son must have been at the starting point. His entire body appeared burned, his skin blackened and peeling off, was burned to the bone in places like his fingers. Johnny did not attempt to remove the victim's clothing, pieces of it stuck to the charred skin. Both paramedics bid him get the line, Roy saying, "Now just go easy on the water. We don't want 'em too wet… don't want hypothermia… Yeah, that's it, enough to take the heat off… Good, go to John's patient."

"Here, Chet, I'll do it," Johnny said, "You come over here and keep baggin' him… Okay, good… I just wanna go bit by bit… wanna check it's cooled as I go so I know when to stop… Good job, Chet, keep goin' like that… Perfect…"

Chet ignored the churning in his stomach at the sight and smell, focused on the rhythm of the bag. _He won't make it. It's too much._ Chet knew enough first aid to know that burns this severe and extensive, particularly over the torso, were almost always a death sentence. As a paramedic, Johnny had to know it, too, yet here he was, doing everything he could, working as hard as he could to try and save a life when he knew it would be futile. He blinked back a sudden onslaught of tears. It would not do to cry here. If there were to be any tears, they would have to wait until later.

"Follow them to Rampart with the squad, Chet," Cap said, coming over after the ambulance had loaded up and left, "How-? How bad was it?"

"Really bad."

A hand gripped his shoulder, a comforting gesture, and Chet climbed into the squad.

xXxXx

Mike was finishing up the dishes when the phone rang.

"Station 51. This is Stoker."

" _Stoker, this is Dr. Early. Are Roy and Johnny there?"_

"No, they had a run a little while ago… child stuck in a fence. If they haven't called you yet, then they're probably on their way back now. Want me to pass on a message?"

" _I'd rather pass it on myself, but I think I'd like to let you know what's going on, too,_ " Early said, his tone softening, " _The Brenton boy, the one who was very badly burned in that garage fire the other day… He, uh… He succumbed to his injuries today. He died a few minutes ago._ "

Mike's heart sank. Logic told him this was inevitable, but he'd still hoped for a miracle. _Johnny's gonna take it hard._

"Thanks for calling, doc, I'll- wait… I think they're back…"

The squad rumbled into place and fell silent, and Mike could hear Johnny's voice, "… would learn! I mean, how many kids do we gotta unstick from fences before they figure out they'll get stuck? It's ridiculo- Oh, hey, Mike. Who's on the phone?"

Mike tried to keep his voice light, tried not to betray the advance knowledge he had, and it seemed to work.

"I'll take it, Roy," Johnny said, and Mike passed him the phone.

He and Roy stepped away over to the sink, where Mike whispered, "The Brenton kid died."

Roy made a soft noise, told Mike, "It was only a matter of time, really. His burns were too extensive."

"Still, it's a shame."

"Yeah… yeah, it's still a shame."

There was a click as Johnny hung up the phone. Something like anger was in his face as he left the kitchen and went outside.

"Hey, what's goin' on? Gage get dumped again?"

They turned. Chet stood by them, eyebrows raised, a smirk starting on his face. The smirk faded quickly when he looked at them. He asked, "What happened, fellas?"

"The Brenton kid passed away today," Roy replied, "Early just called."

Chet gave a quiet, "Oh," and stood for a moment before following Johnny outside, Mike and Roy watching him go. In a surprise move, Chet and Johnny had announced they'd decided to rent an apartment together. Even Roy hadn't known anything about it, and Johnny usually wouldn't shut up about anything to Roy. Mike was happy for them, though. He got the idea they were often lonely, with both of them living alone. Johnny tended to go out a lot more than Chet, but he could sometimes get into a dark mood when things went wrong on a run. They appeared to always be at odds on the outside, but deep down, they were very close. _They're gonna be good for each other._ Roy walked into the bay, leaving Mike to return to his dishes.

"Hey, _mi querido_ , what's goin' on?" Marco asked, standing by as he finished up.

"Nothin' much. Just doin' the dishes."

"Where's Johnny and Chet?"

"Outside. We just got word the Brenton kid died, and Johnny took it pretty hard."

"Really? I was hopin' he'd pull through somehow."

"I think we all were."

"Yeah… Say, did anyone ever figure out what happened?" Marco asked.

Mike shrugged, "I got the gist of it from Roy earlier. They were doin' some kinda project in there, welding and painting and shit like that… somethin' ignited, and that was it. Got the kid's shirt and wouldn't go out."

"Doesn't make it less awful."

"Nope, it doesn't."

"You said Chet's with Johnny?"

"Yup."

"Good."

Marco stepped close, and the two leaned against the counter, taking peace from the other's presence. Mike felt himself smile as Marco's hand rested atop his own, a warm, pleasant, comforting weight.

* * *

 _ **For my lovely anons: The Sherlock (BBC) fic I mentioned last chapter is called 'Gone Is My Past' and can be found on AO3. It is rated T.**_


	31. My Feelings are True, I Really Love You

_**Warnings: sexual content, strong language**_

 _ **Well, we're coming up on the end, folks. This is the penultimate chapter, with only the epilogue left to share. Sorry this one took a bit longer. Life hit me for a few days, along with a bit of writer's block... and maybe a bit of procrastination because I secretly don't want this to end. Thanks to everyone who's been here through this experience while it's been a WIP, and thanks to you if you're reading it as a completed work and have come all the way to the end.**_

* * *

"Debbie, no, bring that over here."

"But Dad said put it here!"

"Just do as I say, sweetie."

"But-"

"Your father is a fireman, Debbie, not a party planner," Ginny said firmly, "Bring me that tray."

The teenager rolled her eyes but did as she was told. Ginny took the tray of food from her, setting it on a long table by a bowl of punch. The Stanley household was a hive of activity. _I'm sure Mike's going to be thrilled… if a bit embarrassed._

"Carol! Robin! Come over here and help me set out plates for everyone!"

Her other girls were still young, weren't quite teenagers yet, her middle just barely a teen. They were still happy to do things with the family. Hank was busy on the other side of the yard putting together some games. They'd invited a lot of people.

"Well, honey, I think we did a bang-up job," she told Hank.

"Funny, I was just thinkin' the same thing."

"Great minds think alike."

She smiled up at him, her tall and handsome fireman. _He's a great catch._ Ginny stepped closer to him, craned her neck, waited. Hank obediently stooped to kiss her, pressing his lips to hers gently.

"Everyone said they were coming, right?" he asked.

"Oh yes, we're gonna have a backyard full of firemen and paramedics and even the odd doctor," she replied, "This is bound to be the party of the century."

"I hope not. I don't think we need the police as our guests, too."

"I think I can keep everyone in line."

"Of that, I have no doubt."

Ginny hummed softly, told Hank, "I just hope everything won't be too awkward for Mike and Marco with all these people around. I just don't want them to feel uncomfortable."

"They'll be fine, sweetie. They always are."

 _But it isn't fair._ She didn't voice the thought, but she felt it unsaid at the end of Hank's sentence. It wasn't fair that she could kiss her husband and hold his hand whenever she wanted and they could not. She simply couldn't imagine what it must feel like to have to hide who they loved. _I'll never fully understand what they're going through, but I try to understand as much as I can._ Car doors slammed out front. The party was ready to start.

xXxXx

"This is ridiculous, Marco," Mike remarked as they pulled up to the Stanley residence, "I'm thirty-six. I don't need a party with all my friends for my birthday."

"No, you don't 'need' a party, but it's nice to have one," Marco replied, "Look, it'll be fun. All our friends are gonna be there, there's gonna be food… Just enjoy it."

Mike huffed, causing Marco to laugh quietly. _This is perfect._ There weren't too many people there yet, just their shift, their closest friends.

"Where is everyone?" Mike queried.

"I dunno. Guess we're just early. What, are you some kinda diva now? Two minutes ago, you didn't wanna have a party, and now you wanna know where everyone is."

"You already told me who all was gonna be here! Forgive me if I had a certain expectation…"

Marco chuckled again, earning a glare from his lover.

"There you are!" Ginny greeted them, hugging each of them.

Cap, Chet, Roy, and Johnny all greeted them in turn, as did Joanne and the DeSoto and Stanley children.

"Yard looks very nice, Ginny," Mike told her.

"Anything for you, Mike. You've been such a good friend, it's the least we could do."

"And that's why we wanted you to have the best birthday gift," Cap added.

"A-A gift? Cap, c'mon, I said I didn't want anything. Why did you get me something?"

"I didn't get you anything, Mike. The department did."

"The department? What?" Mike asked.

Confusion was evident in Mike's face. His head was almost on a swivel as he looked around at everyone, his brow furrowed. No one was giving anything away. The men of 51s simply smiled at Mike, hoping he would catch on. When he didn't, Cap finally took pity on him. He stuck out his hand, shook Mike's, said, "Congratulations, Captain Stoker."

The confusion didn't leave right away. Mike seemed to freeze for a long moment, simply blinked at Cap, still gripped his hand.

"What?"

"You heard me. You're Captain Stoker now."

"I-? I made it? I passed?"

"With flying colors, pal."

Mike's jaw hung open, his eyes wide and blinking. Marco stood by him as Cap continued, "Now, you've still got a bit of training to complete, but then you'll be going out and be at your own station with your own crew."

"And they're gonna be one lucky crew," Roy added.

Mike turned to Marco, asking, "You knew?"

"Of course I did."

"And you didn't tell me?"

"Cap said he wanted to surprise you," Marco explained softly, " You know how hard it was to pretend I didn't know anything, to pretend I wasn't so proud of you, that I wasn't so happy for you?"

He was almost knocked over as Mike threw his arms around him. Marco hugged back tightly, whispering, " _Querido_ , I'm so proud of you… so proud… _lo hiciste, mi amor. Estoy tan orgulloso de ti_ … so happy for you."

"I can't believe it… I did it, babe," Mike breathed, his voice full of emotion, "I just don't believe it."

The others stepped up and hugged them, clapping their shoulders and offering congratulations. It was bittersweet, to be sure. Marco heard a rumor Mike might be sent back to 69s, where his career began, but he'd also heard 45s was a possibility. In any case, Mike would soon be leaving 51s, and Marco had already told himself he wouldn't follow him. There was no reason whatsoever they couldn't remain in their relationship and be together, as Marco couldn't imagine not doing that, but working together was essentially out of the question now. It would create a conflict of interest for Mike, and that wouldn't be fair to anyone. For now, though… For now, things weren't changing.

"Mikey Stoker!" a voice drawled, "Why look at you!"

"Maggie!"

So many people came to celebrate Mike's promotion. The Starretts were there first, Maggie and Ellie and Len. Ellie was a young woman now, her red hair pulled back in a long ponytail, her face still round and freckled. Len was tall and broad as his father had been, a senior in high school.

"So, Ellie, what's next for the best and brightest?" Mike asked.

"Well, I did what I promised," she said proudly, "I went to CalTech and got my undergraduate in astrophysics, but I'm going back to start a graduate degree. I really need one for all the good jobs, especially the ones at NASA I want. They're really competitive, but I think I have a shot."

Several firemen also came, all from various stations, including Brice and Bellingham.

"Congrats, Mike," Bellingham grinned, shaking his hand vigorously, "Couldn't've happened to a better guy."

That was why Marco liked Bellingham. He was always so genuinely happy. Brice, however, was never so forward with his emotions, but he was growing on Marco.

"Stoker, I would like to offer my congratulations. I have no doubts that you will make an excellent captain for whichever station you are assigned."

"Thank you, Brice. I really appreciate it."

"You are very welcome. Lopez, I heard you wish to become an engineer."

"It's the next logical step. Anyway, I think it's time for me to move up and make room in the ranks for guys much younger and fitter, know what I mean?"

"I suppose I do. I've been debating the same move myself for several months now," Brice replied, "However, I find the paramedic work to be both interesting and stimulating in various ways that the position of engineer is not, though the reverse is also true."

"Brice, with your commitment to detail, you could go right on up to captain, maybe even chief," Marco told him, "I'm sure the brass would love you in their ranks."

"Of that, I'm not entirely sure."

There was the ghost of a smile on his face.

"Say, Brice, have you met Ellie Starrett yet? She's going for her PhD in astrophysics…"

Everyone was so kind and complimentary, it almost made Marco's chest ache. Pride and joy swirled warmly in his veins, sat comfortably in his stomach. He knew Mike had been content as engineer, but someone like him deserved to move up, deserved to have a crew of his own, deserved to share the knowledge he'd accumulated over the years. _He's gonna be so good at this. Maybe when I'm an engineer, we can work together again._ Marco couldn't keep the smile off his face, and neither could Mike.

"So, how did you like your surprise party, _mi amor_?" Marco asked back at their apartment.

"Very surprising," Mike replied, "I had a lot of fun. It was nice to know how many people care and are happy for me. I'm a little concerned at how good everyone was at keeping the big secret, though."

Marco stepped close to him, settled his hands on Mike's hips, told him softly, "Y'know, I cried when Cap told me you got the promotion. I was just so happy for you, I couldn't stop it. Cap mighta cried a little bit, too. You know what a softie he is."

"That I do."

Mike looked so happy and calm and beautiful, smiling warmly at Marco. He couldn't help himself. He leaned in and kissed him, pressing his lips firmly to Mike's. Mike smiled into the kiss, smiled as Marco pulled him closer so their hips were flush. A rough hand cupped his cheek, warm lips beginning to work against his.

" _Te amo, mi querido_ ," Marco murmured, pulling away slightly, "I love you so much, Mike."

"I know… I love you, too, Marco," Mike replied, "more than I ever knew I could. I'm so glad you've been here with me through all of this, so glad to know you love me and are gonna be here with me."

"I wouldn't wanna be anywhere else."

"Good. I don't want you anywhere else."

Marco kissed him again. Mike's lips were soft and warm and perfect, working slowly but passionately against his. They kissed easily for a moment, taking the time to relax and hold each other. Marco's tongue darted out to touch Mike's lips, lips that quickly parted to grant him further access. Heat was beginning to settle in his stomach. He slid his tongue into Mike's mouth, wanting to give Mike everything he wanted, everything he had. His hands slipped back from Mike's hips to grab his ass, causing a moan to escape his throat. Mike sucked on Marco's tongue briefly, teeth grazing against his lip, hands sliding around to cup the back of Marco's head. The heat began to travel through his blood and into his groin.

Their kiss became more heated, more of a clash. It fueled the heat in Marco's blood. He grabbed harder at Mike's ass as skilled fingers began to unbutton his shirt. Marco smiled. They kissed hard, their hands groping and pulling, licking harshly into each other's mouth. It was almost too much, forcing them to break apart for a moment, both panting and clinging to the other.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

Marco settled his hands on Mike's hips and carefully pulled him toward the bedroom. Mike kissed him again, softly this time, lovingly, and he returned the favor. Contentment overpowered lust for a short while, a warm weight in his chest. He pulled back from the kiss.

"What is it, babe?" Mike asked.

"I just wanted to look at you," Marco told him quietly, "You're just so beautiful and bright and wonderful… I just wanted to look at you, _mi hermoso ángel_."

A flush crept into Mike's cheeks that was not solely from excitement. The sight was so endearing, so precious, that Marco stepped in to kiss him once more. _He has no idea how perfect he really is. None at all._ They kissed again for a long moment, just holding each other until Mike pushed him down on the bed and straddled him. Lust began to overtake contentment once more, Mike's lips trailing along Marco's jaw and down his neck, finally sucking a bruise into his skin just below the collarbone. Marco rocked his hips up against Mike's and moaned.

With a swift movement, Marco flipped them, easily sitting astride Mike's lap. He pulled off his shirt and leaned over, pressing his lips to Mike's once more. Their bodies rocked together in perfect rhythm. The friction was delicious, working them both into a higher state of arousal. Marco's cock was already straining in his pants. He couldn't keep his mouth off Mike's, was desperate suddenly for his kisses, desperate to keep him as close as possible. His fingers worked deftly to undo the buttons on Mike's shirt, and he caught Mike's lip between his teeth, sucking gently. Mike rolled his hips, his erection rubbing against Marco's, pulling a moan from him.

Marco began lavishing attention on the fresh expanse of skin, almost folding himself in half to press his lips to Mike's belly. The muscles shivered under his lips. He kissed his way up the toned chest, pausing to give a pink nipple due attention. Rough fingers wound their way into Marco's hair, gripping tight, almost pulling. Marco gently bit the flesh just beside the nipple, giving Mike a bruise to match his own.

"There, _mi amor_ … You're mine," Marco whispered, "and I'm yours. Forever."

Mike smiled softly, replied, "Mm… forever… I like the sound of that, Marco."

Their lips met, tenderly expressing their affection for the other, each licking into his lover's mouth slowly. Their hips rocked together. Marco let his lips trail away from Mike's, let them work their way to a newly bared shoulder as he carefully stripped off his lover's shirt. _God, I love him so much._ Mike sat up, holding Marco firmly around the waist, his lips now tracing fire over his skin. Marco moaned softly, rolled his hips, started his fingers working on Mike's belt.

"C'mon, babe," Mike half-laughed after a minute or so, "Let's just hurry up and take our pants off so you can have your way with me."

"Probably a good idea. What else do you want?"

"Just you… Just you, Marco… You know what makes me happy, what makes me feel good. I just want you to take care of me like you always do."

Marco murmured, "As you wish, _querido_ ," and kissed Mike before helping him to his feet to strip him further. Mike, apparently, had other ideas. He pushed Marco back onto the bed and pulled off his pants and shorts, already naked himself, and Marco knew what was coming. He groaned, "Oh, fuck," as Mike's mouth began working his cock in a steady rhythm, his tongue swirling around the head in just the right ways. It drove Marco wild. More than once he'd cum just from his lover's mouth only to be made hard again the same way. He grabbed a handful of brown hair and heard Mike moan, the vibrations going right through his cock. His hips twitched up of their own accord. The blue eyes met his as Mike pulled back to the tip, lavishing attention on the sensitive head.

"Holy-! Fuck!"

Mike swallowed him to his base, eyes still locked with his, staying there as long as he could before setting another steady pace. His head bobbed along Marco's cock perfectly.

"Fuck, you're so good at this," Marco told him shakily, "so good at suckin' my cock. You love it… love this… love havin' my cock in your mouth… knowin' I'm completely at your mercy… and you know I love all that, too. Shit-…"

He released Marco's cock from his mouth with a deliberately wet pop and crawled up to him. Marco could taste himself in Mike's mouth, felt his cock twitch. For a moment, though, he simply kissed Mike, let his tongue trace himself all through Mike's mouth. He wanted to take things slow today, to show Mike how much he loved him and cared for him. _That's how I'm gonna take care of him today._ He kissed Mike gently, slowly rolling them over until he was on top.

While he lubed up his cock, he trailed his lips down Mike's body, hitting every sweet spot along the way, flicking his tongue against the purpling bruise he left earlier. Marco whispered between kisses, "You're so beautiful… _tan hermoso_ … I just wanna make you feel good… gonna make you feel so good…"

He pushed in slowly, dragging a long moan from Mike. Long, muscular legs wrapped around his waist. Marco knew Mike usually preferred their sex hard and fast, but he certainly wasn't above something more tender and slow.

"I love you so much," Marco whispered once he was completely buried, leaning in to kiss Mike, "You're just so beautiful and perfect… sometimes I can't believe I have you all to myself. No matter what happens, we always have each other, _mi amor_. Always."

"You're gonna make me cry if you keep that up," Mike replied, tears already evident in his eyes, "Do you really want me to cry during sex?"

"Maybe… Just wanted to tell you the truth, Mike…"

Marco rolled his hips. Mike moaned softly, his hands coming up to grasp at Marco's shoulders, blunt nails digging into his flesh. He rolled his hips again, setting a steady and easy rhythm. He loved this position because he loved looking at Mike, and this position afforded him the best view. _And I can kiss him easier._ He rocked slowly into Mike, just gazing into his lovely eyes, taking note of every little wave of pleasure that flickered across his face. _So beautiful..._ Ripples of bliss rolled up Marco's spine, arousal buzzing softly at the base of his skull. His rhythm was easy and almost relaxing.

"Marco-… babe, I love you," Mike gasped.

Their lips met in a soft, passionate kiss. Tongues worked slowly, their mouths gently licking and biting and sucking. It was perfect.

xXxXx

Nothing felt quite so perfect to Mike as Marco's slow, thoughtful thrusts, as their easy lovemaking. He loved the closeness and the feeling of being filled. It sparked something in him, something good and warm that made him feel like he was home. He wound his fingers into Marco's black hair and pulled him in for a kiss that was languid and passionate, that made the situation even more intimate somehow. There was just nothing that could equate to this feeling.

Marco's pace picked up slightly, and Mike knew they were both approaching their climax. Their lips parted but still hovered close, almost touching as they panted and gasped. Mike could feel the warm breath on his face. Heat began to pool in his groin and at the base of his spine. Marco stilled without warning.

"What is it, babe?"

"I just don't want this to be over yet," Marco whispered, "I wanna do this forever."

Mike smiled up at him softly, told him, "I know… and we can. We can stay like this for as long as you like, but we don't have to. I love being with you no matter what we're doing. I just love being with you, Marco… but right now, I'd really appreciate it if you'd let me cum soon."

Marco laughed quietly, his beautiful brown eyes still bright and wet. He leaned in and kissed Mike, rolling his hips perfectly and pulling a moan from him. He moved a little faster than before, adjusting his angle slightly so the head of his cock would brush against Mike's prostate. Mike cried out, his head dropping back. Marco's lips set to work on the newly bared throat, teeth grazing over his sensitive skin, sucking another bruise into the skin at his collarbone. _It matches the one I gave him._ He whined low, fingers tightening in Marco's hair, felt him moan.

"Fuck-! Yeah… yeah, just like that, baby… Right there… Right- Fuck!"

Brown eyes bored into his, both staring into the other as if to see into the soul.

"Love you, _querido_ … Love you so much… Want you to cum for me, Mike… c'mon, _amor_ , cum for me…"

It built up inside him, all the arousal and love and excitement. The heat in the base of his spine was almost overwhelming. Mike's chest heaved a bit more, his breathing heavier as his orgasm approached. Marco's rough hand reached down to wrap around his cock. A few quick pumps was all it took before Mike's orgasm rippled through his body, a shuddering groan falling from his lips in response. He felt the cum spurt onto his stomach and chest. Marco kissed him gently, trailed his lips down his throat, licked some of the cum from his skin, returned to his mouth. Mike moaned, tasting himself on Marco's tongue.

"Hey, c'mon, it's your turn, baby... lay on your back…"

Marco eagerly obeyed. Mike pressed his lips to the inside of Marco's thigh, kissing his way up to the hard cock waiting for him. He grabbed his shirt off the floor and cleaned off the lube. He didn't like the way it felt or tasted, preferred Marco as he was. Mike leaned over, smirking, and added another love bite to Marco's flesh, trying to perfectly match it to the one on his chest. Marco gasped softly. _Perfect._ He kissed his way down Marco's belly, reveled in the warmth of his skin, in the smell of him.

Mike started at the base of Marco's cock, slowly kissing his way up the shaft, one of his hands carefully playing with his balls. Marco sucked in a sharp breath. Fingers gripped his hair, pulling slightly. Mike wrapped his lips around the head, flicking his tongue against the tip, tasting salt and musk. He loved doing this for Marco. He loved to take care of him, to tease him and drive him wild. _I'm pretty good at this, if I do say so myself… and I do say so myself._ Mike raked his blunt nails down the sensitive skin of Marco's inner thigh and slowly swallowed him down.

"Fuck… Mike… _mi amor-_ …" Marco gasped, "Holy shit… yeah, that's good, babe…"

 _I know it is._ His tongue dragged along the underside of Marco's cock as he pulled his head up, enjoying the heat and weight. Mike maintained a slow but steady pace that made Marco squirm under him. He teased and worshipped and lavished until Marco's hips were stuttering under him, rocking jerkily up into his mouth. It was perfect. Mike echoed his lover's plea from earlier, "Yeah, baby, cum for me… Want you so bad… want you to cum for me, Marco…"

Marco whined. His fingers tightened in Mike's hair. Marco's brown eyes were heavy-lidded and dark with lust and arousal. He gave a keening moan, and his cock pulsed in Mike's mouth, hot cum splashing against the back of his throat and on his tongue.

"Mike… that was incredible."

Grinning, Mike crawled up to kiss him, cum still in his mouth. Marco's hands came down to cup his face, his tongue languidly working against Mike's. He lowered his body onto his lover's, covering him like a blanket, soaking in his warmth. After a moment, they pulled away, still touching foreheads, gazing into each other's eyes. Contentment swept over Mike and settled into his bones. Tears sprang unbidden to Mike's eyes as they rolled onto their sides, still holding each other.

"Today was perfect, Marco," he whispered huskily, "You're perfect."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, _querido_ , but I appreciate the compliment."

A rough thumb wiped away one of Mike's tears, and Marco said softly, "I love you so much… I'm so happy for you… so happy I'm here to share this with you."

"I never imagined I could ever be this happy. I don't think I ever told you, but you're the first and only person I've ever loved like this. I'm not sure I ever even had a crush before you."

"Well, now you're makin' me look bad."

"I don't mean it like that. It doesn't bother me. I just-… I always thought love was more trouble than it was worth, but… but you changed that. You made me recognize that love is something that matters, that's worth having," Mike explained tenderly, "I love you, Marco Lopez. I love you more than anything."

"Mike Stoker, I love you more than anything in this life… and I cannot wait to see where we go from here."

"I couldn't have said it better myself."

The two men nestled into each other's arms, foreheads lightly touching, legs twined under the covers. _Yes… we've certainly embarked on some kinda adventure… and I wouldn't wanna do it with anyone else._ He snuggled closer into Marco's side.

"So, _querido_ … does this mean I can call you 'captain' in the bedroom?"


	32. Epilogue

_**Warnings: mentioned character death, mentioned LODD, mild language**_

* * *

Marco stood in front of the mirror, smoothed his hands over his shirt once more, ran a hand through his hair.

"Everything okay, babe?"

Mike came over and stood behind him, hands on his shoulders.

"Yeah, I guess… just-…shit, I dunno," Marco replied quietly.

"No, I know how you feel. It's gonna be… gonna be heavy."

"Yeah, it is."

They stood quietly for a moment, simply drawing in the other's comfort, before Mike gently told Marco, "Alright, c'mon… we gotta get goin' or we're gonna be late. We'd never hear the end of it from Johnny."

The Stanley home, the site of many a celebration for the men of 51s, was to be home to at least one more. Johnny and Roy had just been promoted to captain after eight years as top-notch paramedics. Their promotion left Cap as the only one of them left at 51s, and he, too, would soon move up the ladder and bid Station 51 farewell. _I just don't know how he can stay there much longer with all the memories. I couldn't._ Marco's heart was strangely heavy as they pulled up to the celebration.

Shortly after Mike's promotion, Marco got one of his own to engineer, going to 69s and to nearby 68s, respectively. That was about a year and a half ago. A lot had happened since then. Johnny and Roy had yet to arrive. Cap and Ginny were still setting up in the yard. It was just going to be a small party, a few close friends after the pomp of the ceremony yesterday, a simple and intimate gathering.

"Mike, Marco," Ginny greeted, smiling, "oh, it's so good to see the two of you. Here, we're almost done setting up, so you just settle in and have a drink."

"We could help," Marco offered.

"Absolutely not. You're guests. You don't have to do anything. Just sit."

The two firemen did as ordered, but they weren't alone for long. Drs. Brackett, Early, and Morton, along with Dixie, arrived not long after. Dixie beamed and hugged them.

"It's so good to see you fellas again," Dixie said, "I don't see so much of you when you're not with troublemakers like Johnny and Roy. How are you?"

"Oh, we're just fine," Mike replied, "Just keepin' on keepin' on. How 'bout you, Dix?"

"Can't complain. Just keepin' these fellas in line, as usual."

"Now that's not fair, Dix. I behave myself," Early spoke up, coming over.

"True, but sometimes you get a little out of hand."

"Sometimes… yeah."

"Anyway, where are the special guys?" Dixie asked.

"Fashionably late?" Early followed.

"Johnny's probably ridin' with Roy, and Roy's probably waitin' on Johnny," Marco stated, "As for Brice, I expect he'll be here any minute, right on time, as usual."

Craig Brice had also been promoted to captain with Johnny and Roy, and Johnny had graciously invited him to celebrate with them. He showed up exactly when Marco said he would, right on time, looking oddly casual when Marco was used to seeing him solely in uniform.

"I see Gage and DeSoto haven't arrived yet."

"No," Mike agreed, "but they'll be here soon… fashionably late."

They milled about, all chatting until their two friends arrived. Johnny grinned crookedly at everyone, accepting their hugs and congratulations. Roy looked a little more sheepish, but he did the same. _They have a right to be proud. They've accomplished a great deal._ They were leaders now, leaders of men, leaders of lifesaving operations. Their experiences had brought them this far and made them into the great leaders they were going to be. Marco couldn't be prouder of them, these men who were among his closest friends.

"We said it yesterday, and we'll say it again," Marco told Johnny, Roy, and Brice, "You fellas deserve it. It couldn't happen to better paramedics and firemen. I'm really happy for you."

"Thanks, man," Johnny replied, "It is pretty awesome… it's just weird-… I just- It's not the same without Chet here."

Marco sighed quietly. He'd honestly been hoping no one would bring it up. _That was a ridiculous notion._ Chet's non-presence had been the proverbial elephant in the room, unsaid words hanging thick in the air over the party, no one wanting to speak his name and bring up the painful memories.

"I know. I wish he was here, too."

It happened shortly after Marco left the station, only a few months later, with Cap, Chet, Johnny, and Roy all still at 51s. The station was called to a fire at an apartment building. Everything was going fine until a man reported his mother was still inside, so Chet and Johnny went in to find her. While up on the fourth floor, Chet was caught in a massive fallout of debris, screaming about his leg. The force from the collapse broke his femur and severed his femoral artery, also severely injuring his liver. He didn't survive the ambulance ride to Rampart. It had been a dark time for everyone, but Johnny and Marco took it particularly hard.

"He knows," Roy said quietly, "Him and Boot are up there lookin' down, and they're happy… They're proud."

Johnny ducked his head, but not before Marco saw the tears in his eyes. A few firemen came and went, until only those who were there first remained. Cap and Ginny sat side-by-side, holding hands, leaning on each other. Dixie and Early were right by them, flanked by Brackett and Morton. Brice stood, his hands in his pockets, his round face somber. Johnny and Roy sat beside each other, pressed close, obviously drawing comfort from each other as partners often did. Marco and Mike sat much the same way, though Marco extended his hand, twined his fingers with Mike's, head on his shoulder.

The affair had grown almost solemn. It was their first such gathering since Chet's funeral, and no one seemed quite sure what to do without the wisecracking lineman there to tell jokes and wild tales. Still, it was nice to simply be in everyone's company.

"Did I hear it right," Brice spoke up after a moment, "that Kelly once faked an aneurysm to get a rise out of a female prospective paramedic?"

There were a few snorts of laughter.

"He sure did," Mike stated, "I was right there when he did it."

"And you didn't try to stop him?"

"And keep him from makin' an ass of himself? No way. It was fun watchin' her put him in his place."

"Oh, she was pissed," Roy added, "I'm surprised she didn't tear him a new one."

"He sure knew how to get himself into trouble," Marco said.

Johnny huffed softly against Roy's shoulder, a quiet laugh, but Marco could see he was miserable, felt much the same, the occasion's happiness having worn off. The Rampart staff left soon after, and Brice wasn't far behind them, leaving only the men of 51s. Marco hugged Roy before he left, giving him more congratulations. _Then there's Johnny… sweet, goofy, kind Johnny…_

Marco wrapped his arms around Johnny in a tight embrace, held him close, whispered, "Don't worry about the past, _manito_. You're gonna do fine. You're gonna be a great captain. I promise you that, Johnny… and you're gonna be okay. Remember, someone's lookin' out for you, watchin' over your shoulder."

Johnny's breath hitched softly. He sniffed, murmuring, "Thank you, Marco. I-I'll r'member."

"Good," he pulled away, saw Johnny's wet eyes, told him, "You call us if you need anything, okay? Absolutely anything. You're not bothering us. Promise?"

"I promise. Thanks again."

"Anytime."

He watched Johnny and Roy go, and then it was his and Mike's turn to leave. His heart was still heavy when they returned to their apartment. Mike stepped up and put his arms around Marco, asking softly, "Hey, what's wrong, baby? You're still down."

"You're not?"

"Guess you got me there. C'mon, talk to me. We always talk."

"I dunno, I guess I'm just worried about Johnny and Roy. They've been partners for so long that I just hope they'll be able to get along without each other. Maybe Roy'll be a little better than Johnny, but just-… I'm really worried about Johnny… He blames himself a lot. Not that Roy doesn't or we don't, but Johnny takes bad shit personally and lets it eat at him. Roy kinda helped him, though. He could talk sense into him and sit him down and tell him it wasn't his fault and actually get through to him," Marco explained, "I'm just not sure what's gonna happen when he doesn't have a partner to talk him down when something bad happens."

"He'll get through it. He'll talk to his engineer or call Roy or call one of us. He'll be okay."

"I know… I know, I'm just worried. I'm allowed to worry."

"And here I thought you swore off worrying all those years ago," Mike teased.

"Old habits die hard. I never stopped worrying, really."

"Oh, I know."

Mike leaned in and kissed Marco's forehead, his nose, his lips. Marco smiled up at him.

"So, Mike…" Marco started, smirking, remembering, "What should we have for dinner? What's your best meal? The one everyone likes?"

"Probably my spaghetti and meatballs… old family recipe," Mike smiled, "I was thinking, though… maybe we could have the very first meal we ever had together. What do you think?"

Marco laughed quietly.

"Pizza sounds perfect."

* * *

 _ **So this is it. Thank you so much to everyone who has come on this incredible journey with me and encouraged me along the way with all your kind words. This fic has been a lot of fun, and I'm very thankful for all who read it from the very beginning, to those of you who joined partway through, and to those who have read it as a completed work.**_

 _ **Still, I can't find in my heart to be completely done with this world just yet, so keep an eye out for some related works. Thank you all again, and please keep being wonderful.**_


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